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32X

QUEEN MARY.

//cT

CANADIAN COPYRIGHT EDITION.

QUEEN MAEY;

A DRAMA.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

TORONTO :

JAMES CAMPBELL & SON.

1875.

Entbred according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year OrJ
thousand Eight hundred and Seventy-five, by James Campbell & So\
in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture.

i!i

HuNTKR, Rose & Co., Printers,

TOUOMTO.

iramatis fmcna.

EEN Mary.

I LIP (King of Naples and Sicily, afterwards King of Spain).
E Princess Elizabeth.
uiNALD Pole (Cardinal and Papal Legate).
MON Renai^d (Spanish Ambassador).

s SiEUR De Noailles (French Ambassador).

DMAS Cranmer (Archbishop of Canterbury).
R Nicholas Heath (Archbishop of York ; Lord Chancellor
after Gardiner).

WARD CouRTBNAY (Earl of Devon).

RD William Howard (afterwards Lord Howard, and Lord
High Admiral).

RD Williams of Thame.

RD Paget.

RD Petrk,

ephen Gardiner (Bishop of Winchester and Lord Chancellor),

DMUND Bonner (Bishop of London).

homas Thirlby (Bishop of Ely).

IR Thomas W^att

(Insurrectionary Leaders).

liR Thomas St^^fford
|iR Ralph Baoenhall.
JiR Robert Southwell.
iiR Henry Bedingfifld.
JiR William Cecil.

Dramatis Personce.

, I

J (Adherents of Wyatt).

Sir Thomas White (Lord Mayor of London).

The Duke of Alva \

The Count de Feria ( (attending on PhUip).

Peter Martyr. •

Father Cole.

Father Bourne.

Villa Garcia.

Soto.

Captain Brett

Anthony Knyvett j

Peters (Gentleman of Lord Howard).

Roger (Servant to Noailles).

William (Servant to Wyatt).

Steward of Household to the Princess Elizabeth.

Old Nokes and Nokes.

Marchioness of Exeter (Mother of Courtenay).

Lady Clarence

Lady Magdalen Dacres

Alice

Maid of Honour to the Princess Elizabeth.
^^^^ I (two Country Wives).

Lords and other Attendants, Members of the Privy Council,
Members of Parliament, two Gentlemen, Aldermen, Citizens,
Peasants, Ushers, Messengers, Guards, Pages, &o.

(Ladies in Waiting to the Queen).

QUEEN MARY.

ACT I.

SCENE I.— ALDGA.TE RICHLY DEQQRATED.

Crowd. Marshalmbn .

Mabshalman.

Stand back, keep a clear lane. When will her Majesty pass,

layst thou ? why now, even now ; wherefore draw back your

eads and your horns before I break them, and make what

oise you will with your tongues, so it be not treason. Long

ve Queen Mary, the lawful and legitimate daughter of H. rry

the Eighth. Shout, knaves !

Citizens.
Long live Queen Mary !

FiiiST Citizen.
That's a hard word, legitimate ; what does it mean

Second Citizen.
It means ^- bastard.

Third Citizen,
Nay, it means truebom.

H Queen Mary. - [a«t i

First Citizen.
Why, didn't the Parliament make her a bastard /

Second Citizen.
No ; it was the Lady Elizabeth.

Thied Citizen.
That was after, man ; that was after.

First Citizen.
Then which is the bastard ?

\ Second Citizen.

Troth, they be both bastards by Act of Parliament and
Council.

Third Citizen.

Ay, the Parliament can make every true-born man of us a
bastard. Old Nokes, can't it make thee a bastard ? thou
shouldst know, for thou art as white as three Christmasses.

Old Nokes (dreamily).
Who's a-passing ? King Edward or King Richard ?

Third Citizen.
No, old Nokes.

Old Nokes.
It's Harry !

Third Citizen.
It's Queen Mary.

Old Nokes.
Tlie blessed Mary's a-passing ! [Falls on his knees.

[A(!T i.H HCF.yE I.]

rliament and

Queen Mary. 9

NOKES.

Lot father alone, my masters ! he's past yuur questioning.

Third Citizen.

Answer thou for him, then ! thou'rt no such cockerel thy-
self, for thou was born i' the tail end of old Harry the Seventh.

NOKES.

Eh ! that was afore bastard-making began- I was born true
man at five in the forenoon i' the tail of old Harry, and so
they can't make me a bastard.

Third Citizen.

But if Parliament can make the Queen a bastard, why, it
follows all the more that they can make thee one, who art
fray'd i' the knees, and out at elbow, and bald o' the back,
and bursten at the toes, and down at heels.

NOKBS.

I was bom of a true man and a ring'd wife, and I canH
argue upon it ; but I and my old woman 'ud bum upon it,
that would we.

Marshalman.

What are you cackling of bastardy under the Queen's own
nose ? I'll have you flogg'd and burnt too, by the Rood I
will.

First Citizen.
He swears by the Bood. Whew !

Second Citizen.
Hark ! the trumpets.

[The Procession passes, Mary and Elizabeth rid-
ing side by side, and disappears under the gate .

11 t

Queen Mary.

Citizens.

[act I.

Long live Queen Mary ! down with all traitors ! God save
Her Grace ; and death to Northumberland !

\_Exeunt.

Mmient Two Gentlemen.

First Gentleman.
By God*s light a noble creature, right royal.

Second Gentleman.

She looks comelier than ordinary to-day ; but to my mind
the Lady Elizabeth is the more noble and royal.

First G^n .. "^an.

T>;

I mean the Lady Elizabeth,
ter in her service who rej ed '
Wanstead with five hunr' :.orse,

say they be much divideu; took her hand, called her sweet
sister, and kiss'd not her alone, but all the ladies of her fol-

you hear (I have a daugh-
hat she met the Queen at
and the Queen (tho' Home

lowing.

Second Gentleman.

Ay, that was in her hour of joy, there will be plenty to sun-
der and unsister them again ; this Gardiner for one, who is to
be made Lord Chancellor, and will pounce like a wild beast
out of his cage to worry Cranmer.

First Gentleman.

And furthermore, my daughter said that when there rose a
talk of the late rebellion, she spoke even of Northumberland
pitifully, and of the good Lady Jane as a poor inn(»cent child
who had but obeyed her father ; and furthermore, she said
that no one in her time should be burnt for heresy.

Second Gentleman.
Well, sir, I look for happy times.

SCENE I.] Queen Mai^. 11

First Gentleman.
There is but one thing against them. I know not if you know.

Second Gentleman.

I suppose you touch upon the rumour that Charles, the
master of the world, has offer'd her his son Philip, the Pope
and the Devil. I trust it is but a rumour.

First Gentleman,

She is going now to the Tower to loose the prisoners there,
and among them Courtenay, to be made Earl of Devon, of
royal blood, of splendid feature, whom the council and all her
people wish her to marry. May it be so, for we are many of
us Catholics, but few Papists, and the Hot G: spellers will go
mad upon it.

Second Gentleman.

Was she not betrothed in her babyhood to the Great Em-
peror himself ?

First Gentleman.
Ay, but he's too old.

Second Gentleman.

And again to her cousin Reginald Pole, now Cardinal, but
I hear that he too is full of aches and broken before his day.

First Gentleman.

O, the Pope could dispense with his Cardinalate, and his
achage, and his breakage, if that were all : but will you not
follow the procession 1

Second Gentleman,
No ; I have seen enough for this day.

Queen Mary.
First Gentleman.

[act I.

Well, I shall follow ; if I can get near enough I shall judge
with my own eyes whether Her Grace incline to this splendid
scion of Plantagenet. ^dceunt.

SCENE II.— A ROOM IN LAMBETH PALACE.

Cranmer.

To Strasbourg, Antwerp, Frankfort, Zurich, Worms,

Geneva, Basle — our Bishops from their sees

Or fled, they say, or flying — Poinet, Barlow,

Bale, Scory, Coverdale ; besides the Deans

Of Christchurch, Durham, Exeter, and Wells —

Ailmer and BuUingham, and hundreds more ;

So they report : I shall be left alone.

No : Hooper, Ridley, Latimer will not fly.

Enter Peter Martyr.

Peter Martyr.

Fly, Cranmer ! were there nothing else, your name
Stands first of those who signed the Letters Patent
That gave her royal crown to Lady Jane.

Cranmer.

Stand first it may, but it was written last :
Those that are now her Privy Council, sign'd
Before me : nay, the Judges had pronounced
That our young Edward might bequeath the crown
Of England, putting by his father's will.
Yet I stood out, till Edward sent for me.
The wan boy-king, with his fast fading eyes
Fixt hard on mine, his frail transparent hand,
Damp with the sweat of death, and griping mine,
Whisper'd to me, if I loved him, not to yield
His Church of England to the Papal wolf

SCENE II.]

Queen Mary,

And Mary ; then I could no more — I sign'd.
Nay, for bare shame of inconsistency,
She cannot pass her traitor council by,
To make me headless.

Peter Martyr.

That might be forgiven.
I tell you, fly, my Lord. You do not own
The bodily presence in the Eucharist,
Their wafer and perpetual sacrifice :
Your creed will be your death.

Cranmer.

Step after step.
Thro' many voices crjdng right and left,
Have I climb'd back into the primal church.
And stand within the porch, and Christ with me :
My flight were such a scandal to the faith,
The downfall of so many simple souls,
I dare not leave my post.

Peter Martyr.

But you divorced
Queen Catharine and her father ; hence, her hate
Will bum till you are bum'd.

Cranmer.

I cannot help it.
The Canonists and Schoolmen were with me.
" Thou shalt not wed thy brother's wife." — 'Tis written,
** They shall be childless." True, Mary was bom.
But France would not accept her for a bride
As being bom from incest ; and this wrought
Upon the king ; and child by child, you know.
Were momentary sparkles out as quick
Almost as kindled ; and he brought his doubts
And fears to me. Peter, I'll swear for him
He did believe the bond incestuous.
But wherefore am I trenching on the time

Queen Mary.

[act I.

That should already have seen your steps a mile
From me and Lambeth 1 God be with you ! Go.

Peter Martyr.

Ah, but how fierce a letter you wrote against
Their superstition when they slander'd you
For setting up a mass at Canterbury
To please the Queen.

Set up the mass.

Cranmer.
It was a wheedling monk

Peter Martyr.

I know it, my good Lord,
But you so bubbled over with hot terms
Of Satan, liars, blasphemy, A ntichrist,
She never will forgive you. Fly, my Lord, fly !

Cranmer.
I wrote it, and God grant me power to bum !

Peter Martyr.

They have given me a safe conduct : for all that
I dare not stay. I fear, I fear, I see you,
Dear friend, for the last time ; farewell, and fly.

Cranmer.
Fly and farewell, and let me die the death.

[Exit Peter Martyr.

Enter Old Servant.

O, kind and gentle master, the Queen's Officers
Are here in force to take you to the Tower.

SCENE in. J

Queen Mary.
Cbanmer.

Ay, gentle friend, admit them. I will go.
I thank my God it is too late to fly.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.— ST. PAUL'S CROSS.

Father Bourne in the pidpit. A crowd. Marchioness
OF Exeter, Courtenay. The Sieur de Noailles
and his man Roger in front of the stage. Hubbub.

Noailles.
Hast thou let fall those papers in the palace ?

Roger.
Ay, sir.

Noailles.

** There will be no peace for Mary till Elizabeth lose her
head."

Roger.
Ay, sir.

Noailles.
And the other. " Long live Elizabel^h the Queen."

Roger.

Ay, sir ; she needs must tread upon them.

Noailles.

Well.
These beastly swine make such a grunting here,
I cannot catch what father Bourne is saying.

^*«u?

Queen Mary.
Roger.

[act I,

Quiet a moment, my masters ; hear what the shaveling haa
to say for himself.

Crowd.

Bush — hear.

BOURNL.

— and so this unhappy land, long divided in itself, and
sever'd from the faith, will return into the one true fold,
seeing that our gracious Virgin Queen hath

Crowd.
No pope ! no pope !

Roger {to those about himy mimicking Bourne).

— hath sent for the holy legate of the holy father the Pope,
Cardinal Pole, to givo us all that holy absolution which

First Citizen.
Old Bourne to the life !

Second Citizen.
Holy absolution ! holy Inquisition !

Third Citizen.
Down with the Papist. {Rnbhuh.

Bourne.

— and now that your good bishop, Bonner, who hath lain
so long under bonds for the faith — [Unbbuh.

NoAILLEg.

Friend Roger, steal thou in among the crowd,
And get th^, swine to shout Elizabeth,

JCENE III.]

Queen Mary.

Yon gray old Gospeller, sour as midwinter,
fBegin with him.

Roger {yoea).

By the mass, old friend, we'll have no pope here while the
I Lady Elizabeth lives.

Gospeller.

A.rt thou of the true faith, fellow, that swearest by the
mati2 ?

Roger.

Ay, that am I, new converted, but the old leaven sticks to
my tongue yet.

First Citizen.
He says right ; by the mass we'll have no mass here.

Voices of the Crowd.

Peace ! hear him ; let his own words damn the Papist.
From thine own mouth I judge thee — tear him down.

Bourne.

— and since our Gracious Queen, let me call her our second
Virgin Mary , hath begun to re-edify the true temple

First Citizen.

Virgin Mary ! we'll have no virgins here — we'll have the
Lady Elizabeth !

[Swords are drawn, a knife is hurled and sticks in the
pulpit. The mob throng to the pulpit stairs.

Marchioness of Exeter.

Son Courtenay, wilt thou see the holy father
Murder'd before thy face ? up, son, and save him !
They love thee, and thou canst not come to harm.
B -

Queen Mary.
CouRTENAY (in the pulpit).

[act 1.

Shame, shame, my masters ! are you English-bom,
And set yourselves by hundreds against one ?

Crowd.

A Courtenay ! a Courtenay !

[-4 train of Spanish servants crosses at the back of the
sta^e,

NOAILLES.

These birds of passage come before their time :
Stave off the crowd upon the Spaniard there.

BOOER.

My masters, yonder's fatter game for you
Than this old gaping gurgoyle : look you there —
The Prince of Spain coming to wed our Queen !
After him, boys ! and pelt him from the city.

\They seize stones and follow the Spaniards.

Eoceunt on the other side Marchioness op Exeter

c'vd Attendants.

NoAiLLES {to Roger).

Stand from me. If Elizabeth lose her head —

That makes for France.

And if her people, anger'd thereupon,

Aiise against her and dethrone the Queen —

That makes for France.

And if I breed confusion anyway —

That makes for France.

Good day, my Lord of Devon ;
A bold heart yours to beard that raging mob !

Courtenay.

My mother said. Go up ; and up I went.
I knew they would not do me any wrong,
For I am mighty popular with them, Ncailles.

;ene III.

s OP Exeter

JENE III.]

'^ou look'd a king.

Queen Mary.

NoAILLSfl.

Lh!

CoURTrNAY.

Why not ? I am king's blood.

NOAILLES.

nd in the whirl of change may come to be one.

COURTBNAY.
NOAILLES.

ut does your gracious Quuun entreat you king-like

COUKTENAY.

ore God, I think she entreats me like a child.

NOAILLES.

fou've but a dull life in this maiden court,
fear, my Lord.

COURTENAY.

A life of nods and yawnB.

NOAILLES .

lo you would honour my poor house to-night,
"''e might enliven you. Divers honest feUows,
^he Dukie oi Suffolk lately freed from prison,
5ir Peter Carew and Sir Thomas Wyatt,
5ir Thomas Stafford, and some more — we play.

Lt what ?

CoURTBNAY.
NOAILLES.

The Game of Chess.

Queen Mary.

[act I.

CoURTENAY.

The Game of Chess !
I can play well, and I shall beat you there.

NOAILLES.

Ay, but we play with Henry, King of F"?'?^ "'

And certain of his court.

His Highness makes his moves across the channel,

We answer him with ours, and there are messengers ^

That go between us.

COURTBNAY.

Why, such a game, sir, were whole years a playing.

NOAILLES.

Nay ; not so long I trust. That all depends
Upon the skill and swiftness of the players.

OOURTENAY.

The King is skilful at it?

NOAILLES.

Very, my Lord.

CoURTENAY.

And the stakes high ?

NOAILLES.

But not beyond your means.

* CoURTENAY.

Well, I'm the first of players. I shall win.

NOAILLES.

With our advice and in our company,

HCBNE III.]

Queen Mavy.

'our meana.

And so you well attend to the king's moves,
I think you may.

COURTENAY.

When do you meet ?

NOAILLES.

CouRTEif AY {aside).

To-night.

T will be there ; the fellow's at his tricks —
Deep — I shall fathom him. {Aloud.) Good morning,
,Noailles. [Exi^ Courtenay.

N0AILLE8.

Good-day, my Lord. Strange game of chess ! a King

That with her own pawns plays against a Queen,

Whose play is all to find herself a King.

Ay ; but this fine blue-blooded Courtenay seems

Too princely for a pawn. Call him a Knight,

That, with an ass's, not an horse's head.

Skips every way, from levity or from fear.

Well, we shall use him somehow, so that Gardiner

And Simon Renard spy not out our game

Too earjy. Roger, thinkest thou that anyone

Suspected thee to be my man. '

Roger.

Not one, sir.

NOAILLES.

No ! the disguise was perfect. Let's away

\Exeuni,

•I

liii

Queen Mary.

[act I.

SCENE IV.— LONDON. A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

Elizabeth. Enter Courtenay.

COURTENAY.

So yet am I,

Unless my friends and mirrors lie to me,

A goodlier-looking fellow than this Philip.

P^!

The Queen is ill advised : shall I turn traitor ?

They've almost talk'd me into it : yet the word

Affrights me somewhat ; to be such a one

As Harry Bolingbroke hath a lure in it.

Good now, my Lady Queen, tho' by your age.

And by your looks you are not worth the having,

Yet by your crown you are.

[Seeing Elizabeth.

The Princess there ?
If I tried her and la — she's amorous.
Have we not heard of lier in Edward's time,
Her freaks and frolics with the late Lord Admiral ?
I do believe she'd yield. I should be still
A party in the state ; and then, who knows —

Elizabeth. >
What are you musing on, my Lord of Devon ?

Has not the Queen —

courtbnay.

Elizabeth.
Pone what, Sir ?

.SCENE IV. J

Queen Mary.

COURTENAY.

— Made you follow

The Lady Suffolk and the Lady Lennox.

You,

The heir presumptive.

Elizabeth.

Why do you ask ? you know it.

CoURTENAY.

You needs must bear it hardly.

Elizabeth.

No, indeed !
I am utterly submissive to the Queen.

COURTBNAY.

Well, I was musing upon that ; the Queen

Is both my foe and yours ; we should be friends.

Elizabeth.

My Lord, the hatred of another to us
Is no true bond of friendship.

CoURTENAY.

Might it not
Be the rough preface of some closer bond ?ft

Elizabeth.

My Lord, you late were loosed from out the Tower,

Wliere, l^e a butterfly in a chrysalis,

You spent your life ; that broken, out you flutter

Thro' the new world, go zigzag, now would settle

Upon this flower, now that ; but all things here

At court are known ; you have solicited

The Queen, and been rejected.

'■II'

'm,

Queen Mary.

COURTENAY.

[act I.

Flower, she !
Half faded ! but you, cousin, are fresh and sweet
As the first flower no bee has ever tried.

Elizabeth.

Are you the bee to try me ? why, but now
I called you butterfly.

. CoURTENAY.

You did me wrong,
I love not to be called a butterfly :
Why do you call me butterfly ?

Elizabeth.
Why do you go so gay then ?

COURTBNAY.

Velvet and gold.
This dress was made me as the Earl of Devon
To take my seat in ; looks it not right royal 1

Elizabeth.
So royal that the Queen forbad you wearing it.

CoURTENAY.

I wear it then to spite her.

Elizabeth.

My Lord, my Lord ;
I see you in the Tower again. Her Majesty
Hears you aflect the Prince — prelates kneel to you —

CoURTENAY.

I am the noblest blood in Europe, Madam,
A Courtenay of Devon, and her cousin,

ICENB IV.]

Queen Mary.
Elizabeth.

She hears you make your boast that after all
She means to wed you. Folly, my good Lord.

COURTENAY.

How folly ? a great party in the state
Wills me to wed her.

Elizabeth.

Failing her, my Lord,
Doth not as great a party in the state
Will you to wed me i

CoURTENAY.

Even so, fair lady.

Elizabeth.
You know to flatter ladies.

Courtenay.
True matters of the heart.

Nay, I meant

Elizabeth.

My heart, my Lord,
Is no great party in the state as yet.

Courtenay.

Great said you ? nay, you shall be great. T love you,
Lay my life in your hands. Can you be close 1

Elizabeth.

Can you, my Lord I

iiiii

ii;ii!'!^

';i'''i

'' ' '

;!i!ii

Queen Mary.

COURTENAY.

[act (,

Close as a miser's casket.
Listen ;

The King of France, Noailles the Ambassadcr.
The Diike of Suffolk and Sir Peter Carew,
Sir Thomas Wyatt, I myself, some others,
Have sworn tMs Spanish marriage shall not b&.
If Mary will not hear us — well — conjecture —
Were I in Devon with my wedded bride,
The people there so worship me — Your ear ;
You shall be Queen.

I cannot hear you.

Elizabeth.

You speak too low, my Lord ;

CoURTENAY.

Ill repeat it.

Elizabeth.

No!
Stand' further off, or you may lose your head.

CoURTENAY.

I have a head to lose for your sweet sake.

Elizabeth.

Have you, my Lord ? Best keep it for your own.
Nay, pout not, cousin.
Not many friends are mine, except indeed
Among the many . I believe you mine ;
And so you may continue mine, farewell.
And that at once.

Enter Mary, behind.

Mary.

Whispering — leagued together
To bar me from my Philip.

SCENE IV.] Queen Mary,

COURTENAY.

Pray — consider —

Elizabeth {seeing the Queen).

Well, that's a noble horse of yours, my Lord.
I trust that he will carry you well to-day.
And heal your headache.

COURTENAY.

You are wild ; what headache ?
Heartache, perchance ; not headache.

Elizabeth (ciside to Courtenay).

Are you blind ?
[Courtenay sees the Queen mid exit. Exit Mary.

Enter Lord William Howard.

Howard.

Was that my Lord of Devon ? do not you
Be seen in corners with my Lord of Devon.
He hath fallen out of favour with the Queen.
She fears the Lords may side with you and him
Against her marriage ; therefore is he dangerous.
And if this Prince of fluff and feather come
To woo you, niece, he is dangerous everyway.

Elizabeth.
Not very dangerous that way, my good uncle.

Howard.

But your own state is full of danger here.
The disaffected, heretics, reformers.
Look to you as the one to crown their ends.
Mix not yourself with any plot I pray you ;
Nay, if by chance you hear of any such,

Queen Mary.

[act I.

Speak not thereof — ^no, not to your best friend
Lest you should be confounded with it. Still —
Perin^cJ ac cadaver — as the priest says,
You know your Latin — quiet as a dead body.
What was my Lord of Devon telling you ?

Elizabeth.

Whether he told me anything or not,

I follow your good counsel, gracious uncle.

Quiet as a dead body.

Howard.

You do right well.
I do not care to know ; but this i charge you.
Tell Courtenay nothing. The Lord Chancellor
(I count it as a kind of virtue in him,
He hath not many), as a mastiff dog
May love a pvppy cur for no more reason
Than that the twain have been tied up together,
Thus Gardiner — for the two were fellow-prisoners
So many years in yon accursed Tower —
Hath taken to this Courtenay. Look to it, niece.
He hath no fence when Gardiner questions him ;
All oozes out ; yet him — because they know him ;
The last White Rose, the last Plantagenet
(Nay there is Cardinal Pole, too), the people
Claim as their natural leader — ay, some say.
That you shall marry him, make him King belike.

Elizabeth.
Do they say so, good uncle ?

Howard.

Ay, good niece !
You phould be plain and open with me, niece.
You should not play upon me.

Elizabeth.

No, good uncle.

SCENE IT.]

Queen Mary.
Enter Gabdineb.

Gakdiner.
The Queen would see your Grace upon the moment.

Elizabeth.
Why, my lord Bishop ?

Gabdineb.

I think she means to counsel your withdrawing
To Ashridge^ or soine other country house.

Elizabeth.
Why, my lord Bishop ?

Gardiner.

I do but bring the message, know no more.
Your Grace will hear her reasons from herself.

Elizabeth.

'Tis mine own wish fulfilled before the word
Was spoken, for in truth I had meant to crave
Permission of her Highness to retire
To Ashridge, and pursue my studies there

Gabdineb.

Madam, to have the wish before the word
Is man's good Fairy — and the Queen is yours.
I left her with rich jewels in her hand,
Whereof 'tis like enough she means to make
A farewell present to youi; Grace.

> Elizabeth.

I have the jewel of a loyal heart.

My Lord,

' II

30 Queen Mary.

Gardiner.
I doubt it not, Madam, most loyal.

Howard.

[Bows low and exit.

See,

This comes of parleying with my Lord of Devon.
Wall, well, you must obey ; and I myself
BeKeve it will be better for your welfare.
Your time will come.

■:.l

" Elizabeth.

I think my time will come.
Uncle,

I am of soverign nature, that I know,
Not to be quell'd ; and I have felt within lae
Stirrings of some great doom when God's just hour
Peals — but this fierce old Gardiner — his big baldness,
That irritable forelock which he rubs.
His buzzard beak and deep-incavem'd eyes
Half fright me.

Howard.

You've a bold heart ; keep it so.
He cannot touch you save that you turn traitor ;
And so take heed I pray you — ^you are one
Who love that men should smile upon you, niece.
Thejr'd smile you into treason — some of them.

Elizabeth.

I spy the rock beneath the smiling sea.
But if this Philip, the proud Catholic prince,
And this bald priest, and she that hates me, seek
In that lone house, to practise on my life.
By poison, fire, shot, stab —

:EiVB v.]

Queen Mary.

Howard.

Ihey will not, niece.
Mine is the fleet and all the powta* at sea —
Or will be in a moment. If they dared
To harm you, I would blow this Philip and all
Your trouble to the dogstar and the devil.

Elizabeth.
To the Pleiads, uncle ; they have lost a sister.

Howard.

But why say that ? what have you done to lose her ?
Come, come, I will go with you to the Queen. [Exeunt

SCENE v.— A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

Mary toith Philip's rtviniatwre. Alice.

Mary {kisdiiy the rmniature).

Most goodly. Kinglike and an Emperor's son, —
A king to be, — is he not noble, girl ?

Alice.

Goodly enou^, your Grace, and yet, methinks,
I have seen goodlier.

Mary.

Ay ; some waxen doll
Thy baby eyes have rested on, belike ;
All red and white, the fashion of our land.
But my good mother came (God'rest her soul)
Of Spain, and I am Spanish in myself,
And in my likings.

Queen Mary,

[act I.

Alice.

By your Grace's leave
Your royal mother came of Spain, but took
To the English red and white. Your royal father
(For BO they say) was all pure lily and rose
In his youth, and like a lady.

Mary.

O, just God !
Sweet mother, you had time and cause enough
To sicken of his lilies and his roses.
Cast off, betrayed, defamed, divorced, forlorn !
And then the king — that traitor past forgiveness,
The false archbishop fawning on him, married
The mother of Elizabeth — a heretic
Ev'ii aasheio; but God has sent me here
To take such order with all heretics
That it shall be before I die, as tho'
My father and my brother had not lived.
What wast thou saying of this Lady Jane,
Now in the Tower ?

Alice.

Why, Madam, she was passing
Some chapel down in Essex, and with her
Lady Anne Wharton, and the Lady Anne
Bow'd to the Pyx. ; but Lady Jane stood up
Stiff as the very backbone of heresy.
And wherefore bow ye not, says Lady Anne,
To him within there who made Heaven and Earth ?
I cannot, and I dare not, tell your Grace
What Lady Jane replied.

Mary.
But I will have it.

Alice.
She said — pray pardon me, and pi^y her —

SCENE v.]

Queen Mary.

)k'.

She hath hearken'd evil counsel — ah ! she said.
The baker made him.

Mary.

Monstrous ! blasphemous !
She ought to bum. Hence, thou {Exit Alice). No — being

traitor
Her head will fall : shall it ? she is but a child
We do not kill the child for doing that
His father whipt him into doing — a head
So full of grace and beauty ! would that mine
Were half as gracious ! O, my lord to be,
My love, for thy sake only.
I am eleven years older than he is.
But wiU he care for that ?
No, by the holy Virgin, being noble,
But love me only : then the bastard sprout,
My sister, is far fairer than myself.
Will he be drawn to her ?
No, being of the true faith with myself.
Paget is for him — for to wed with Spain,
Would treble England — Gardiner is against him :
The Council, people. Parliament against him ;
But I will have him ! My hard father hated me ;
My brother rather hated me than loved ;
My sister cowers and hates me. Holy Virgin,
Plead with thy blessed son ; grant me my prayer ;
Give me my Philip ; and we two will lead
The living waters of the Faith again
Back thro* their widowed channel here, and watch
The parch'd banks rolling incense, as of old,
To heaven, and kindled with the palms of Christ !

Wlio waits, sir ?

Enter Usher.

Usher.

Madam, the Lord Chancellor.

Queen Mary.

[act 1.

i ■' ;'!

Mary.

Bid hira come in. {Enter Gardiner.) Good morning,
my good Lord. [Exit Usher.

Gardiner.

That every morning of your Majesty

May be most good, is every morning's prayer

Of yonr most loyal subject, Stephen Gardiner.

Mary.

Come you to tell me this, my Lord ?

Gardiner.

And more.
Your people have begun to learn your worth.
Your pious wish to pay King Edward's debts.
Your lavish household curb'd, and the remission
Of half that subsidy levied on the people,
Make all tongues praise and all hearts beat for you.
I'd have you yet more loved : the realm is poor.
The exchequer at neap-ebb : we might withdraw
Part of our garrison at Calais.

Mary.

Calais !
Our one point on the main, the gate of France !
I am Queen of England, take mine eyes, mine heart.
But do not lose me Calais.

Gardiner.

Do not fear it.
Of that hereafter. I say your Grace is loved.
That I may keep you thus, who am your friend
And ever faithful counsellor, might I speak ?

Mary.

I can forespeak your speaking. Would I marry
Prince Philip, if all England hate him ? That is

SCENE v.]

Queen Mary.

Your question, and I front it with another :
Is it England, or a party? Now, your answer.

Gardiner.

My answer is, I wear beneath my dress

A shirt of rnaii : my house hath been assaulted.

And when I walk abroad, the populace.

With fingers pointed like so many daggers.

Stab me in fancy, hissing Spain and Philip ;

And when I sleep, a hundred men-at-arms

Guard my poor dreams for England. Men would murder

me.
Because they think me favourer of this marriage.

« Mary.

And that were hard upon you, my Lord Chancellor.

Gardiner.
But our young Earl of Devon —

Mary.

Earl of Devon ?
I freed him from the Tower, placed him at Court ;
I made him Earl of Devon, and — the fool —
He wrecks his health and wealth on courtesans,
And rolls himself in carrion like a dog.

Gardiner.

Mere like a school-boy that hath broken bounds,
Sickening himself with sweets.

Mary.

I will not hear of him.
Good, then, they will revolt : but I am Tudor,
And shall control them.

\'>'

Queen Mary.

Gardinbr.

Iaot I.

I will help you, Madam,
Even to the utmost. All the church in grateful.
You have ousted the mock priest, repulpited
The shepherd of St. Peter, raised the rood again,
And brought us back the mass. I am all thanks
To God and to your Grace : yet I know well.
Your people, and I go with them so far.
Will brook nor Pope nor Spaniard here to play
The tyrant, or in commonwealth or church.

Mary {showiug the picture).

Is this the face of one who plays the tyrant ?
Peruse it ; is not goodly, ay, and gentle ?

Gardiner.

Madam, methinks a cold face and a haughty.
And when your Highness talks of Courtenay —
Ay, true — a goodly one. I would his^life
Were half as goodly (aside).

Mary.

What is that you mutter

Gardiner.

Oh, Madam, take it bluntly ; marry Philip, .
And be stepmother of a score of sons !
The Prince is known in Spain, in Flanders, ha !
For Philip—

Mary.

You oflFend us ; you may leave us.
You see thro* warping glasses.

Gardiner.

If your Majesty —

■!!l

SCENE v.]

Queen Mary.
Maby.

I have 8wom upon the body and blood of Christ
I'll none but Philip.

Gabdinek.

Hath your Grace bo sworn 1

Maby.

Ay, Simon Renard knows it.

Gabdineb.

News, to ine !
It then remains for your poor Gardiner,
So you still care to trust him somewhat less
Than Simon Renard, to compose the event
In some such form as least may harm your Grace.

Maby.

I'll have the scandal sounded to the mud.
I know it a scandal.

Gabdineb.

All my hope is now
It may be found a scandal.

Maby.

You offend us. *"

Gabdineb (aside).

These princes are like children, must be physick'd,

The bitter in the sweet. I have lost mine office,

It may be, thro' mine honesty, like a fool. [Exit.

Enter Usheb.

Maby.
Who waits ?

Qusen Mary.

[act I.

^i^i

Usher.
The Ambassador from France, your Grace.

Mary.

Bid him come in. Good morning, Sir de Noailles.

[Exit Usher.

Noailles (entering),
A happy morning to your Majesty.

Mary.

And I should some time have a happy morning ;

I have had none yet. What says the King your master ?

Noailles.

Madam, my master hears with much alarm,

That you may marry Philip, Prince of Spain —

Foreseeing, with whate'er unwillingness,

That if this Philip be the titular king

Of England, and at war with him, your Grace

And kingdom will be suck'd into the war.

Ay, tho' you long for peace ; wherefore, my master,

If but to prove your Majesty's goodwill.

Would fain have some fresh treaty drawn between you.

Mary.

Why some fresh treaty ? wherefore should I do it ?

Sir, if we marry, we shall still maintain

All former treaties with his Majesty.

Our royal word for that ! and your go'od master,

Pray God he do not be the first to break them.

Must be content with that ; and so, farewell.

Noailles (going, retunis).

I would your answer had been other. Madam,
;por '^ foresee darjt days.

SCENE v.]

Queen Mary.

Mary

And so do I, sir ;
Your master works against me in the dark.
I do believe he holp Northumberland
Against me.

NOAILLES.

Nay, pure phantasy, your Grace.
Wliy should he move against you i

Mary.

Will you hear why ?
Mary of Scotland, — for I have not own'd
My sister, and I will not, — after me
Is heir of England ; and my royal father.
To make the crown of Scotland one with ours,
Had mark'd her for my brother Edward's bride ;
Ay, but your king stole her a babe from Scotland
In order to betroth her to your Dauphin.
See then :

Mary of Scotland, married to your Dauphin,
Would make our England, France ;
Mary of England, joining hands with Spain,
Would be too strong for France.
Yea, were there issue born to her, Spain and we,
One crown, might rule the world. There lies your fear.
That is your drift You play at hide and seek.
Show me your faces !

NOAILLBS.

Madam, I am amazed :
French, I must needs wish all good things for France,
That must be pardon'd me ; but I protest
Your Grace's policy hath a farther flight
Than mine into the future. We but seek
^ome settled ground for peace to stand upon.

Queen Mary.
Maky.

[act I.

Well, we will leave all this, sir, to our council.
Have you seen Philip ever ?

NOAILLES.

Only once.
Maey. .
Is this like Philip ?

NOAILLES.

Ay, but nobler-looking.
Maky.
Hath he the large ability of the Emperor ?

NOAILLES.

No, surely.

Mart.

I can make allowance for thee,
Thou speakest of the enemy of thy king.

NOAILLES.

Make no allowance for the naked truth.
He is every way a lesser man than Charles ;
Stone-hard, ice-cold — no dash of daring in him.

If cold, his life is pure.

Mary.

noailles.

^hy' (smiling), no, indeed.

8CENK v.]

Sayst thou ?

Queen Man^,
Maby.

NOAILLES.

A very wanton life indeed {smUing),

Mart.

Your audience is concluded, sir. [Exit Noalles.

You cannot
Learn a man's nature from his natural foe.

Who waits ?

Enter Usher.

Usher.

The ambassador of Spain, your Grace.

[Exit
Enter Simon Renard.

Mart.

Thou art ever welcome, Simon Renard. Hast thou
Brought me the letter which thine Emperor promised
Long since, a formal offer of the hand
Of Philip ?

Renard.

Nay, your Grace, it hath not reach'd me.
I know not wherefore — some mischance of flood,
And broken bridge, or spavin'd horse, or wave
And wind at their old battle ; he must have written.

Mary.

But Philip never writes me one poor word,
Which inliis absence had been all my wealth,
Strange in a wooer !

!il

Queen Mary.

Renabd.

[act I. ■ scRNB v.]

Yet I know the Prince,
So your king-parliament suffer him to land,
Yearns to set foot upon your island shore.

Maby.

God <Siange the pebble which his kingly foot
First presses into some more costly stone
Than ever blinded eye. I'll have one mark it
And bring it me. I'll have it burnished firelike ;
I'll set it round with gold, with pearl, with diamond.
Let the great angel of the Church come with him ; .
Stand on the deck and spread his wings for sail !
God lay the waves and strow the storms at sea, '

And here at land among the people. O Renard,
I am much beset, I am almost in despair.
Paget is ours. Gardiner perchance is ours ;
But for our heretic Parliament —

Renard.

O Madam,
You fly your thoughts like kites. My master, Charles,
Bad you go softly with your heretics here,
Until your throne had ceased to tremble. Then
Spit them like larks for aught I care. Besides,
When Henry broke the carcase of your Church
To pieces, there were many wolves among you
Who dragg'd the scatter'd limbs into their den.
The Pope would have you make them render these ;
So would your cousin, Cardinal Pole ; ill counsel !
These let them keep at present ; stir not yet
This matter of the Church lands. At his coming
Your star will rise.

Mary.

My star ! a baleful one.
I see but the black night, and hear the wolf,
What star ]

[act I. ■ g^pj^B v.]

Queen Mary.
Renard.

Your star will be your princely son,
Heir of this England and the Netherlands !
And if your wolf the while should howl for more
We'll dust him from a bag of Spanish gold.
I do believe, I have dusted some already,
That, soon or late, your parliament is ours.

Mart.

Why do they talk so foully of your Prince,
Kenard 1

Renard.

The lot of Princes. To sit high
Is to be lied about.

Mary.

They call him cold,

Haughty, ay, worse.

Renard.

Why, doubtless, Philip shows
Some of the bearing of your blue blood —still
All within measure — nay, it well becomes him.

Mary.

Hath he the large ability of his father ?

Renard.
Nay, some believe that he will go beyond him,

Mary.
Is this like him ?

Queen Mary.
Regard.

[act I.

Ay, somewhat ; but your Philip
Is the most princelike Prince beneath the sun.
This is a daub to Philip.

Mary.

Of a pure life 1

Renard.

As an angel among angels. Yea, by Heaven,
The text — Your Highness knows it, *' Whosoever
Looketh after a woman," would not graze
The Prince of Spain. You are happy in him there.
Chaste as your Grace !

Mary,
1 am happy in him there.

Renard.

And would be altogether happy, Madam,

So that your sister were but look'd to closer.

You have sent her from the court, buf then she goes,

I warrant, not to hear the nightingales.

But hatch you some new treason in the woods.

Mary.

We have our spies abroad to catch her tripping.
And then if caught, to the Tower.

Renard.

The Tower ! the block.
The word has turned your Highness pale ; the thing
Was no such scarcecrow in your fathers time.
I have heard, the tongue yet quiver'd with the jest
When the head leapt — so common ! I do think
^o garve your crown that it must come to this.

^ = fe :

SCENE v.] Queen Mary.

Mary.

I love her not, but all the people love her,
And would not have her even to the Tower.

Kexard.

Not yet ; but your old Traitors of the Tower —
Why, when you put Northumberland to death,
The sentence having past upon them all,
Spared you the Duke of Suffolk, Guildford Dudley.
Ev'n that young girl who dar^d to wear your crown ?

Mary.

Dared, no, not that : the child obey'd her father.
Spite of her tears her father forced it on her.

Benard.

Good Madam, when the E.oman wish'd to reign,
He slew not him alone who wore the purple.
But his assessor in the throne, perchance
A child more innocent than Lady Jane.

Mary.
I am English Queen, not Roman Emperor.

Kenard.

Yet too much mercy is a want of mercy.
And wastes more life. Stamp out the fire, or this
Will smoulder and re-flame, and bum the throne
Where you should sit with Philip : he will not come
Till she be gone.

Mary.

Indeed, if th..6 were true-
But I must say farewell. I am somewhat faint
With our long talk. Tho' Queen, I am not Queen
Of mine own heart, which every now and then

■*''*■

■ -1

Ii!

( ■•■

Queen Mary.

[act I. H SCENE v.]

Beats me half dead : yet stay, this golden chain —

My father on a birthday gave it me,

And I have broken with my father — take

And wear it as a memorial of a morning

Which found me full of foolish doubts, and leaves me

As hopeful.

Renabd (aside).

Whew — the folly of all follies
Is to be love-sick for a shadow, {aloud) Madam,
This chains me to your service, not with gold,
But dearest links of love. Farewell, and trust me,
Philip is yours.

Mary.

Mine— but not yet all mine.

Enter Usher.
Your Council is in Session, please your Majesty.

Mary.

Sir, let them sit. I must have time to breathe.

No, say I come. (Exit Usher.) I won by boldness once.

The Emperor counsell'd me to fly to Flanders.

I would not ; but a hundred miles I rode,

Sent out my letters, call'd my friends together.

Struck home and won.

And when the Council would not crown me — thought

To bind me first by oaths 1 could not keep.

And keep with Christ and conscience — was it boldness

Or weakness that won there ? when I, their Queen,

Cast myself down upon my knees before them.

And those hard men. brake into woman tears,

Ev'n Gardiner, all amazed, and in that passion

Gave me my Crown.

Enter Alice. '

Girl ; hast thou ever heard
Slanders against Prince Philip in our Courj^ |

SCENE v.] Queen Mary. 47

Alice.
What slanders ? I, your Grace ; no, never.

Mary.

Nothing ?

Alice.
Never, your Grace,

Mary.
See that you neither hear them nor repeat !

Alice (aside).

Good Lord ! but I have heard a thousand such.
Ay, and repeated them as often — mum !
Why comes that old fox-Fleming back again ?

Enter Benard.

Renard.

Madam, I scarce had left your Grace's presence
Before I chanced upon the messenger
Who brings that letter which we waited for —
The formal offer of Prince Philip's hand.
It craves an instant answer, Ay or No ?

Mary.

An instant. Ay or No ! the Councils sits.
Give it me quick.

Alice (stepping before her).
Your Highness is all trembling.

Mary.
Make way. [Exit into the Cmmcil Chamber,

'-'• it

I, ; . !

Queen Mary.
Alice.

[act

O, Master Renard, Master Kenard,
If you have falsely painted your fine Prince ;
Praised, where you should have blamed him, I pray God
No woman ever love you. Master Renard.
It breaks my heart to hear hei moan at night
As tho' the nightmare never left her bed.

Renabd.

My pretty maiden, tell me, did you ever
Sigh for a beard ?

Alice.
That's not a pretty question.

Renabd.

Not prettily put ? I mean, my pretty maiden,
A pretty man for such a pretty maiden.

Alice.

My Lord of Devon is a pretty man.

I hate him. Well, but k I have, what then ?

Renabd.

Then, pretty maiden, you should know that whether
A wind be warm or cold, it serves to fan
A kindled fire.

Alice.
According to the song.

" His friends would praise him, I believed 'em,
His foes would blame him, and I scom'd 'em,

His friends— as Angels I received 'em,
His foes— The JJevil had subom'd em,"

.; li

SCENE v.]

Queen Mary,
. Renard.

Peace, pretty maiden.

I hear them stirring in the Council Chamber.
Lord Paget's " Ay " is sure— who else 1 and yet,
They are all too much at odds to close at once
In one full throated No ! Her Highness comes.

Enter Mary.

Alice.

How deathly pale ! — a chair, your Highness.

[Bringing one to the Queen.

Renard.

The Council ?

Madam,

Mary.

Ay ! My Philip is all mine.

[Sinks into chair , half fainting.

^fi

Queen Mar'^

[act II.

ACT II.

SCENE I.— ALINGTON CASTLE,

Sir Thomas Wyatt.

I do not hear from Carew or the Duke
Of Suffolk, and lill then I should not move.
The Duke hath gone to Leicester ; Carew stirs
In Devon : that tine porcelain Courtenay,
Save t]iat he fears he might be crack'd in using,
(I have known a semi-madman in my time
So fancy-ridd'n^ should be in Devon too.

Enter William.
News abroad, William ?

William.

None so new, Sir Thomas, and none so old. Sir Thomas.
No new news that Philip comes to wed Mary, no old news
that all men hate it. Old Sir Thomas would have hated it.
The bells are ringing at Maidstone. Doesn't your worship
hear]

Wyatt.

Ay, for the Saints are come to reign again.
Most like it is a Saint's-day. There's no call
As yet for me ; so in this pause, before
The mine be fired, it were a pious work
To string my father's sonnets, left about
Like loosely-scatter'd jewels, in fair order,

SCENE I.]

Queen Mary.

And head them with a lamer rhyme of mine,
To grace his memory.

William.

Ay, why not, Sir Thomas ? He was a fine courtier, he ;
Queen Anne loved him. All the women loved him. I loved
him, I was in Spain with him. I couldn't eat in Spain, I
couldn't sleep in Spain. I hate Spain, Sir Thomas.

Wyatt.
But thou could'st drink in Spain if I remember.

William .

Sir Thomas, we may grant the wine. Old Sir Thomas
Always granted the wine.

Wyatt.
Hand me the casket with my father's sonnets.

William.

Ay — sonnets — a fine courtier of the old Court, old Sir
Thomas.

[Exit
Wyatt.

Courtier of many courts, he loved the more

His own gray towers, plain life and letter'd peace,

To read and rhyme in solitary fields,

The lark above, and nightingale below.

And answer them in song. The Sire begets

Not half his likeness in the son. I fail

Where he was fullest : yet — to write it down. [He writes.

Re-enter William.

' William.

There is news, there is news, and no call for sonnet-sorting
now, nor for sonnet-making either, but ten thousand men on

Queen Mary.

[act II.

Penenden Heath all calling after your worship, and your wor-
ship's name heard into Maidstone market, and your worship
the first man in Kent and Christendom, for the world's up, and
your worship a-top of it.

Wyatt.

Inverted -(Esop — mountain out of mouse .

Say for ten thousand ten — ar 1 pothouse knaves,

Brain-dmied with a draught of morning ale.

Enter Antony Knyvbtt.

William.
Here's Antony Knyvett.

EInyvett.

Look you. Master Wyatt,
Tear up that woman's work there.

Wyatt.

No ; not these,
Dumb children of my father, that will speak
When I and thou and all rebellions lie
Dead bodies without voice, '-song flies you know
For ages.

Knyvbxt.

Tut, your sonnet's a flying ant,
Wing'd for a moment.

Wyatt.

Well, for mind own work, [tearing the paper.
It lies there in six pieces at your feet ;
For all that I can carry it in my head.

Knyvett.
If you can carry your head upon your shoulders.

SCENE I.]

Queen Mary.
Wyatt.

I fear you come to carry it off my shoulders,
And sonnet-making's safer.

Knyvett.

Why, good Lord,
Write you as many sonnets as you will.
Ay, but not now ; what, have you eyes, ears, brains ?
This Philip and the black-faced swarms of Spain,
The hardest, cruellest people in the world,
Come locusting upon us, eat us up.
Confiscate lands, goods, money — Wyatt, Wyatt,
Wake, or the stout old island will become
A rotten limb of Spain. They roar for you
On Penenden Heath, a thousand of them — more —
All arm'd, waiting a leader ; there's no glory
Like his who saves his country : and you sit
Sing-"onging here ; but if I'm any judge.
By God you are as poor a poet, Wyatt,
As a good soldier.

Wyatt.

You as poor a critic
As an honest friend : you stroke me on one cheek.
Buffet the other. Come, you bluster, Antony !
You know I know all this. I must not move
Until I hear from Carew and the Duke.
1 fear the mine is fired before the time.

Kjjyvett {showing a paper).

But here's some Hebrew. Faith, I half forgot it.
Look ; can you make it English ? A strange youth
Suddenly thrust it on me, whisper'd ** W^yatt,"
And whisking round a comer, show'd his back
Before I read his face.

8r..

Wyatt.
Ha ! Courtenay's cipher. [Rmds.

Queen Mary,

[act II.

** Sir Peter Carew fled to France : it is thought the Duke
will be taken. I am with you still ; but, for appearance sake,
stay with the Queen. Gardiner knows, but the Council are
all at odds, and the Queen hath no force for resistance.
Move, if you move, at once."

Is Peter Carew fled 1 Is the Duke taken ?

Down scabbard, and out sword ! and let Rebellion

Roar till throne rock, and crown fall. No ; not that ; '

But we will teach Queen Mary how to reign.

Who are those that shout below there ?

Knyvbtt.

Why, some fifty
That foUow'd me from Penenden Heath in hope
To hear you speak.

Wyatt.

Open the window, Knyvett ;
The mine is fired, and I will speak to them.

Men of Kent : England of England ; you that have kept
your old customs upright, while all the rest of England bow'd
theirs to the Norman, the cause that has brought us together
is not the cause of a county or a shire, but of this England,
in whose crown our Kent is the fairest jewel. Philip shall
not wed Mary ; and ye have called me to be your leader. I
know Spain. I have been there with my father ; I have seen
them in their own land ; have marked the haughtiness of
their nobles ; the cruelty of their priests. If this man marry
our Queen, however the Council and the Commons may fence
round his power with restriction, he will be King, King of
England, my masters ; and the Queen, and the laws, and
the people his slaves. What ? shall we have Spain on the
throne and in the parliament ; Spain in the pulpit and on
the law-bench ; Spain in all the great offices of state ; Spain
in our ships, in our forts, in our houses, in our beds ?

Crowd.

No ! no ! no Spain.

SCEKE I.]

Queen Mary.
William.

No Spain in our beds — that were worse than all. I have
been there with old Sir Thomas, and the beds I know. I
hate Spain.

A Peasant.

But, Sir Thomas, must we levy war against the Queen's
Grace ?

Wyatt.

No, my friend ; war for the Queen's Grace — to save her
from herself and Philip — war against Spain. A.nd think not
we shall be alone — thousands will flock to us. The Council,
the Court itself, is on our side. The Lord Chancellor him-
self is on our side. The King of France is with us ; the
King of Denmark is with us ; the world is with us — war
against -Spain ! And if we move not now, yet it will be
known that we have moved ; and if Philip come to be King,
0, my God ! the rope, the rack, the thumbscrew, the stake,
the fire. If we move not now, Spain moves, bribes our
nobles with her gold, and creeps, creeps snake-like about our
legs till we cannot move at all ; and ye know, my masters,
that wherever Spain hath ruled she hath withered all beneath
her. Look at the New World — a paradise made hell ; the
red man, that good helpless creature, starved , maim'd, flogg'd,
flay'd, bum'd, boil'd, buried alive, worried by dogs ; and
here nearer home, the Netherlands, Sicily, Naples, Lom-
bardy. I say no more — only this, their lot is yours. For-
ward to London with me ! forward to London ! If ye love
your liberties or your skins, forward to London !

Crowd.
Forward to London ! A Wyatt ! a Wyatt !

Wyatt.

But first to Rochester, to take the guns
From out the vessels lying in the river.
Then on.

56 Queen Mary. [act n.

Peasant.
Ay, but I fear we be too few, Sir Thomas.

Wyatt.

Not many yet. The world as yet, my friend,
Is not half-waked ; but every parish tower
Shall clang and clash alarum as we pass.
And pour along the land, and swoU'n and fed
With indraughts and side-currents, in full force
Roll upon London.

CttOWD.

A Wyatt ! a Wyatt ! I'orward !

Knyvett.
Wyatt, shall we proclaim Elizabeth ?

Wyatt.
I'll think upon it, Knyvett.

Knyvktt.

Or Lady Jane l

Wyatt.

No, poor soul , no.

Ah, gray old. castle of Alington, green field
Beside the brimming Medway, it may chance
That I shall never look upon you more.

Knyvett.
Come, now, you're sonnetting again.

Wyatt.

Not I.
I'll have my head set higher in the state ;
Or — if the Lord God will it — on the stake. [Exeunt.

HCENE II.]

Queen Mary,

SCENE 11. —GUILDHALL.

Sir Thomas White (The Lord Mayor), Lord William
Howard, Sir Ralph Baoenhall, Aldermen and
Citizens.

White.
I trust the Queen comes hither with her guards.

Howard.
Ay, all in arms.

[Several of the Citizens move hastily out of the h^xll.
Why do they hurry out tht.d ?

White.

My Lord, cut out the rotten from your apple,
Your apple eats the better. Let them go.
They go like those old Pharisees in John
Convicted by their conscience, arrant cowards,
Or tamperers with that treason out of Kent.
When will her Grace be here ?

Howard.

In some few minutes.
She will address your guilds and companies.
J have striven in vain to raise a man for her.
But help her in this exigency, make
Your city loyal, and be the mightiest man
This day in England.

White.

I am Thomas White.
Few things have fail'd to which I set my will.
I do my most and best.

Howard.

You know that after
The Captain Brett, who went with your train bands

Queen Mary.

[act It.

To fight with Wyatt, had gone over to him
With all his men, the Queen in that distress
Sent Comwallis and Hastings to the traitor,
Feigning to treat with him about her marriage —
Know too what Wyatt said.

White.

He'd sooner be,
While this same marriage question was being argued,
Trusted than trust — the scoundrel — and demanded
Possession of her person and the Tower.

Howard.

And four of her poor Council too, my Lord,
As hostages.

White.

I know it. What do and say
Your Council at this hour ?

Howard.

I will triist you.
We fling ourselves on you, my Lord. The Council,
The parliament as well, are troubled waters ;
And yet like waters of the fen they know not
Which way to flow. All hangs on her address.
And upon you, Lord Mayor.

White.

How look'd the city
When now you past it ? Quiet 1

Howard.

Like our Cfbuncil,
Your city is divided. As we past.
Some hail'd, some hiss'd us. There were citizens
Stood each before his shut-up booth, and look'd
As grim and g:i*ave as from a funeral.

SCENE II.]

Queen Mary,

And here a knot of ruffians all in rags
With execrating execrable eyes,
Glared at the citizen. Here was a young mother,
Her face on flame, her red hair all blown back,
She shrilling " Wyatt," while the boy she held
Mimick'd and piped her " Wyatt," as red as she
In hair and cheek ; and almost elbowing her,
So close they stood, another, mute as death,
And white as her own milk ; her babe in arms
Had felt the faltering of his mother's heart.
And look'd as bloodless. Here a pious Catholic,
Mumbling and mixing up in his scared prayers
Heaven and earth's Maries ; over his bow'd shoulder
Scowl'd that world-hated and world-hating beast,
A haggard Anabaptist. Many such groups.
The names of Wyatt, Elizabeth, Courtenay,
Nay the Queen's right to reign — 'fore God, the rogues-
Were freely buzz'd among them. So I say
Your city is divided, and I fear
One scruple, this or that way, of success
Would turn it thither. Wherefore now the Queen
In this low pulse and palsy of the state.
Bad me to tell you that she counts on you
And on myself as her two hands ; on you,
In your own city, as her right, my Lord,
For you are loyal.

White.

Am I Thomas White ?
One word before she comes. Elizabeth —
Her name is much abused among these traitors.
Where is she ? She is loved by all of us.
I scarce have heart to mingle in this matter.
If she should be mishandled 9

Howard.

No ; she shall not.
The Queen had written her word to come to court :
Methought I smelt out Renard in the letter.

-.:C:E

J*'

Queen Mary,

[act II.

And fearing for her, sent a secret missire,
Which told her to be sick. Happily or not,
It found her sick indeed.

White.

God send her well ;
Here comes her Royal Grace.

Enter Guards, Mary and Gardiner. Sir Thomas White
leads her to djraised seat on the daiHs.

White.

I, the Lord Mayor, and these our companies
And guilds of London, gathered here, beseech
Your Highness to accept our lowliest thanks
For your most princely presence ; and we pray
That we, your true and loyal citizens.
From your own royal lips, at once may know
The wherefore of this coming, and so learn
Your Royal will, and do it — I, Lord Mayor
Of London and our Guilds and Companies.

Mary.

In mine own person am I come to you,

To tell you what indeed ye see and know,

How traitorously these rebels out of Kent

Have made strong head against ourselves and you.

They would not have me wed the Prince of Spain ;

That was their pretext — so they spake at first —

But we, sent divers of our Council to them.

And by their answers to the question ask'd,

It doth appear this marriage is the least

Of all their quarrel. *

They have betrayed the treason of their hearts :

Seek to possess our person, hold our Tower,

Place and displace our councillors, and use

Both us and them according as they will.

Now what am I ye know right well — your Queen ;

To whom, when I was wedded to the realm

HCENE II.]

Queen Mary.

And the realm's laws (the spousal ring whereof,

Not ever to be laid aside, I wear

Upon this finger), ye did promise full

Allegiance and obedience to the death.

Ye know my father was the rightful heir

Of England, and his right came down to me,

Corroborate by your acts of Parliament :

And as ye were most loving unto him.

So doubtless will ye show yourselves to me.

Wherefore, ye will not brook that anyone

Should seize our person, occupy our state,

More specially a traitor so presumptuous

As this same Wyatt, who hath tamper'd with

A public ignorance, and, under colour

Of such a cause as hath no colour, seeks

To bend the laws to his own will, and jrieid

Full scope to persons rascal and forlorn.

To make free spoil and havock of your goods.

Now as your Prince, I say,

I, that was never mother, cannot tell

How mothers love their children ; yet, methinks,

A prince as naturally may love his people

As these their children ; and be sure your Queen

So loves you, and so loving, needs must deem

This love by you rcturn'd as heartily ;

And thro' this common knot and bond of love,

Doubt not they will be speedily overthrown.

As to this marriage, ye shall understand

We made thereto no treaty of ourselves.

And set no foot theretoward unadvised

Of all our Pri\^ Council ; furthermore.

This marriage had the assent of those to whom

The king, my father, did commit his trust ;

Who not alone esteem'd it honourable.

But for the wealth and glory of onr realm.

And all our loving subjects, most expedient.

As to myself,

I am not so set on wedlock as to choose

But where I list, nor yet so amorous

That I must needs be husbanded ; I thank God,

I have lived a virgin, and I noway doubt

Queen Mary.

[act II.

But that with God's grace, I can live so still.

Yet if it might please God that I should leave

Some fruit of mine own body after me,

To be your king, ye would rejoice thereat,

And it would be your comfort, as I trust ;

And truly, if I either thought or knew

This marriage should bring loss or danger to you,

My subjects, or impair in any way

This royal state of England, I would ne^er

Consent thereto, nor marry while I live ;

Moreover, if this marriage should not seem.

Before our own High Court of Parliament,

To be of rich advantage to our realm,

We will refrain, and not alone from this,

Likewise from any other, out of which

Looms the least chance of peril to our realm.

Wherefore be bold, and with your lawful Prince

Stand fast against our enemies and yours,

And fear them r.ot. I fear them not. My Lord,

I leave Lord William Howard in your city.

To guard anc' keep you whole and safe from all

The spoil and sackage aim'd at by these rebels.

Who mouth and foam against the Prince of Spain.

Voices.

Long live Queen Mary !

Down with Wyatt !

The Queen 1

White.

Three voices from our guilds and companies !

You are shy and proud like Englishmen, my masters.

And will not trust your voices. Understand :

Your lawful Prince hath come to cast herself

On loyal hearts and bosoms, hoped to fall

Into the wide-spread arms of fealty,

And finds you statues. Speak at once — and all !

For whom ?

Our sovereign Lady by King Harry's will ;

The Queen of England— or the Kentish Squire ?

:ifi-

1 '

BCENE II.]

Queen Mary,

I know you loyaL Speak ! in the name of God !
The Queen of England or the rabble of Kent '
The reeking dungfork master of the mace !
Your havings wasted by the scythe and spade —
Your rights and charters hobnail'd into slush —
Your houses fired — your gutter bubbling blood

Acclamation.
No ! No ! The Queen ! the Queen !

White.

Your Highness hears
This burst and bass of loyal harmony,
And how we each and all of us abhor
The venomous, bestial, devilish revolt
Of Thomas Wyatt. Hear us now make oath
To raise your Highness thirty thousand men,
And arm and strike as with one hand, and brush
This Wyatt from our shoulders, like a flea
That might have leapt upon us unawares.
Swear with me, noble fellow-citizens, all,
With all your trades, and guilds, and companies.

We swear !

Citizens.

Maby.

We thank your Lordship and your loyal city.

[Exit Mart aiteitded.

White.
I trust this day, thro' God, I have saved the crown.

FiEST Alderman.

Ay, so my Lord of Pembroke in command
Of all her forcp be safe ^ but there are doubts.

••*.

i '(Si si 1 Si

'Mi'

Queen Mary.
Second Alderman.

[act II.

I hear that Gardiner, coming with the Queen,
And meeting Pembroke, bent to his saddle-bow,
As if to win the man by flattering him.
Is he so safe to fight upon her side ?

First Alderman.
If not, there's no man safe.

White.

Yes, Thomas White.
I am safe enough ; no man need flatter me.

Second Alderman.

Nay, no man need ; but did you mark our Queen ?

The colour freely play'd into her face.

And the half sight which makes her look so stem,

Seem'd thro' that dim dilated world of hers.

To read our faces ; I have never seen her

So quoenly or so goodly.

White.

Courage, sir,
Thnt makes or man or woman look their goodliest.
Die like the torn fox dumb, but never whine
Like that poor heart, Northumberland, at the block.

Baqenhall.

The man had children, and he whined for those.
Methinks most men are but poor-hearted, else
Should we so doat on courage, were it commoner ?
The Queen stands up, and speaks for her own self ;
And all men cry, she is queenly, she is goodly.
Yet she's no goodlier ; tho' my Lord Mayor here,
By his own rule, he hath been so bold to-day,
Should look more goodly than the rest of us.

SCENE II.]

Queen Mary,

' 65

Whitis.

Goodly ? I feel most goodly heart and hand,
And strong to throw ten Wyatts and all Kent.
Ha ! ha ! sir ; but you jest ; I love it : a jest
In time of danger shows the pulses even.
Be merry ! yet, Sir Ralph, you look but sad.
I dare avouch you'd stand up for yourself,
Tho' all the world should bay like winter wolves,

Baoenhall.
Who knows ? the man is proven by the hour.

White.

The man should make the hour, not this the man ;
And Thomas White will prove this Thomas Wyatt,
And he will prove an Iden to this Cade,
And he will play the Walworth to this Wat ;
Come, sirs, we prate ; hence all — gather your men —
Myself must bustle. Wyatt comes to Southwark ;
I'll have the drawbridge hewn into the Thames,
And see the citizen arm'd. Good day ; good day.

Exit White.

Bagenhall.
One of much outdoor bluster.

Howard.

For all that.
Most honest, brave, and skilful ; and his wealth
A fountain of perennial alms — his fault
So thoroughly to believe in his own self.

Bagenhall.

Yet thoroughly to believe in one's own self,
So one's own self be thorough, were to do
Great things, my lord,

66 . Queen Mary. [act n,

Howard. ^
It may be.

Bagenhall.

I have heard
One of your council fleer and jeer at him.

Howard.

The nursery-cocker'd child will jeer at aught
That may seem strange beyond his nursery.
The statesman that shall jeer and fleer at men,
Makes enemies for himself and for his king ;
And if he jeer not seeing the true man
Behind his folly, he is thrice the fool ;
And if he see the man and still will jeer,
He is child and fool, and traitor U- the State.
Who is he ? let me shun him.

Baoenhall.

Nay, my Lord,
He is damn'd enough already.

Howard.

I must set
The guard at Ludgate. Fare you well, Sir Ralph.

Baoenhall.

" Who knows ? " I am for England. But who knows.
That knows the Queen, the Spaniard, and the Pope,
Whether I be for Wyatt, or the Queen 1 [Exeunt

SCENE III.— LONDON BRIDGE.
Enter Sir Thomas Wyatt, and Brett.

Wyatt.

Brett, when the Duke of Norfolk moved against us
Thou cried'st "a Wyatt," and flying to our side

SCENE III.]

Queen Mary.

Left his all bare, for which T love thee, Brett.
Have for thine asking aught that I can give,
For thro* thine help we are come to London Bridge ;
But how to cross it balks me. I fear we cannot.

Brett.
Nay, hardly, save by boat, swimming, or wings.

Wyatt.

Last night I climb'd into the gate-house, Brett,
And scared the gray old porter and his wife.
And then I crept along the gloom and saw
They had hewn the drawbridge down into the river.
It roU'd as black as death ; and that same tide
Which, coming with our coming, seem'd to smile
And sparkle like our fortune as thou saidest.
Ban sunless down, and moan'd against the piers.
But o'er the chasm I saw Lord William Howard
By torchlight, and his guard ; four guns gaped at me,
Black, silent mouths : had Howard spied me there
And made them speak, as well he might have done.
Their voice had left me none to tell you this.
What shall we do ?

Were to lose all.

Brett.
On somehow. To go back

Wyatt.

On over London Bridge
We cannot : stay we cannot ; there is ordnance
On the White Tower and on the Devil's Tower,
And pointed full at Southwark ; we must round
By Kingston Bridge.

Brett.
Ten miles about.

■m

Queen Mary.
Wyatt.

[act II.

Ev'n so.
But I have notice from our partisans
Within the city that they will stand by us
If Ludgate can be reached by dawn to-morrow.

Enter one of Wyatt's men.

Sir Thomas, Vve found this paper, pray your worship read
it ; I know not my letters ; the old priests taught me noth-
ing.

Wyatt (reads).

** Whosoever will apprehend the traitor Thomas Wyatt
shall have a hundred pounds for reward."

Man.

Is that it ? That's a big lot of money.

Wyatt.

Ay, ay, my friend ; not read it ? 'tis not written
Half plain enough. Give me a piece of paper !

J Writes '* Thomas Wyatt" large,
that. [Sticks it in his cap.

Brett.

But that's foolhardy.

Wyatt.
No ! boldness, which will give my followers boldness.

Enter Man ivith a prisoner.

Man.

We found him, your worship, a phindering o' Bishop Win-
chester's house ; he says he's a poor gentleman.

SCENE III.]

Queen Mary.
Wyatt.

Gentleman, a thief ! Go hang him. Shall we make
Those that we come to serve our sharpest foes.

Sir Thomas —

Brett.

Wyatt.
Hang him, I say.

Brett. ,

Wyatt, but now you promised me a boon.

Wyatt.
Ay, and I warrant this fine fellow's life.

Brett.

Ev'n so ; he was my neighbour once in Kent.
He's poor enough, has drunk and gambled out
All that he had, and gentleman he was.
We have been glad together ; let him live.

Wyatt.

He has gambled for his life, and lost, he hangs.

No, no, my word's my word. Take thy poor gentleman !

Gamble thyself at once out of my sight.

Or I will dig thee with my dagger. Away !

Women and children !

Enter a Crowd of Women atid Children.

First Woman.

O Sir Thomas, Sir Thomas, pray you go away. Sir Thomas,
or you'll make the Whit© Tower a black *un for us this
blessed day. Hell be the death on us ; and you'll set the
Divil's Tower a-spitting, and he'll smash all our bits o' things
worse than Philip o' Spain.

Queen Mary.

[act II.

Second Woman.
Don't ye now go to think that we be fo^* Philip o* Spain.

Third Woman.

No, we know that ye be come to kill the Queen, and we'll
pray for you all on our bended knees. But o' God's mercy
don't ye kill the Queen here, Sir Thomas ; look ye, here's
little Dickon, and little Robin, and little Jenny — though
she's but a side cousin — and all on our knees, we pray you
to kill the Queen further off. Sir Thomas.

Wyatt.

My friends I have not come to kill the Queen
Or here or there : I come to save you all.
And I'll go further off.

Crowd.

•Thanks, Sir Thomas, we be beholden to you, and we'll
pray for you on our bended knees till our lives' end.

Wyatt.
Be happy, I am your friend.

To Kingston, forward !

{Exewnt

SCENE IV.— ROOM IN THE GATEHOUSE OF WEST-
MINSTER PALACE.

Mary, Alicb, Gardiner, Renard, Ladies.

Alice.
O madam, if Lord Pembroke should be false ?

Mary.

No, girl ; most brave and loyal, brave and loyal.
His breaking with Northumberland broke Northumber-
land.

SCENE IV.]

Queen Mary.

At the park gate he hovers with our guards.

These Kentish ploughmen cannot break the guards.

Enter Messenoeb.

Messenger.

Wyatt, your Grace, hath broken thro' the guards
And gone to Ludgate.

Gardiner.

Madam, I much fear
That all is lost ; but we can save your Grace.
The river still is free. I do beseech you,
There yet is time, take boat and pass to Windsor.

Mart.
I pass to Windsor and I lose my crown.

Gardiner.
Pass, then, I pray your Highness, to the Tower.

Mart.
I shall but be their prisoner in the Tower.

Cries without
The traitor ! treason ! Pembroke !

Ladies.

Treason ! treason !

Mart.

Peace.

False to Northumberland, is he false to me ?

Bear witness, Renard, that I live and die

The true and faithful bride of Philip — A sound

Queen Mary.

[aOT II.

Of feet and voices thickening hither — blows —
Hark, there is battle at the palace gates,
And I will out upon the gallery.

Ladiss.
No, no, your Grace ; see there the arrows flying.

Mary.

I am Harry's daughter, Tudor, and not fear.

[Goes out on the gallery.
The guards are all driven in, skulk into comers
Like rabbits to their holes. A gracious guard
Truly -f shame on them they have shut the gates !

Enter Sir Robert Southwell.

Southwell.

The porter, please your Grace, hath shut the gates
On friend and foe. Your gentlemen-at-arms,
If this be not your Grace's order, cry
To have the gates set wide again, and they
With their good battleaxes will do you right
Against all traitors.

Mary.

They are the flower of England ; set the gates wide.

[Exit Southwell.

Enter Courtenay.

Courtenay.

All lost, all lost, all yielded ; a barge, a barge,
The Queen must to the Tower.

Mary.

Whence come you, sir ?

SCENE IV.]

Q^een Mary.

COURTENAY.

From Charing Cross ; the rebels broke us there,
And I sped hither with what haste I might
To save my royal cousin.

. Mary.

Where is Pembroke ?

C0¥RTENAY.

I left him somewhere in the thick of it.

Mary.

Left him and fled ; and thou thc-t would'st be King,
And hast not heart nor honour. I myself
Will down into the battle and there bide
The upshot of my quarrel, or die with those
That are no cowards and no Courtenays.

Courtbnay.
I do not love your Grace should call me coward.

Enter another Messenger,.

Messenger.

Over, your Grace, all crush'd ; the brave Lord William
Thrust him from Ludgate, and the traitor flying
To Temple Bar, there by Sir Maurice Berkeley
Was taken prisoner.

Mary.

To the Tower with him I

Messenger.

* Tis said he told Sir Maurice there was one
Cognisant of this, and party thereunto,
My Lord of Devon.

74 Queen Mary. [aot it.

Mary.

To the Tower with him I

COURTENAT.

0 la, the Tower^ the Tower, always the Tower,

1 shall grow into it — I shall be the Tower.

Mary.

Your Lordship may not have so 1 ng to wait.
Kemove him !

COUE

,-. 1 .1 * ,3. ^

La, to whistle out m> ^ ^e,
And carve my coat upon the walls again !

[Exit Courtenay, guarded.

MS(!ISENGER.

Also this Wyatt did confess the Princess
Cognisant thereof, and party thereunto.

Mary.
What ? whom — whom did you say 1

Messenger

Your Royal sister.

Elizabeth,

Mary.

To the Tower with her !

My foes are at my feet and I am Queen.

Gardiner m\d her Ladies kneel to her.

Gardiner (rising).

There let them lie, your footstool ? (Aside). Can I strike
Elizabeth ?— not now and save the life
Of Devon ; if I save him, he and his

SCENE IV. J

Queen Mary.

Are bound to me — ^may strike hereafter. (Alovd). Madam,
What Wyatt said, or what they said he said,
Cries of the moment and the street —

He said it.

Maby.

Gabdiner.
Your courts of justice will determine that.

Renabd (advancing).

I tnist by this your Hifi^hness will allow
Some spice of wisdom in my telling you,
When last we talked, that Philip would not come
Till GuUdford Dudley and the Duke of Suffolk
And Lady Jane had left us.

Mart.

They shall die.

Benard.
And your so loving sister ?

Mary.

She shall die.
My foes are at my feet, and Philip King.

[Exeunt.

lit

in^

Queen Mary.

[act in.

ACT III.

SCENE I.— THE CONDUIT IN GRACE-
CHURCH.

Painted with the Nine WorthieSj among them King Henry
VIIL holding a bookf on it inscribed ** Verbum Dei."

Enter Sir Ralph Baoenhall and Sir Thomas

Stafford.

1;'

Bagenhall.

A hundred here and hundreds hang'd in Kent.

The tigress had unsheath'd her nails at last,

And Renard and the Chancellor sharpened them.

In every London street a gibbet stood.

They are down to-day. Here by this house was one ;

The traitor husband dangled at the door,

And when the traitor wif< came out for bread

To still the petty treason therewithin,

Her cap would brush his heels.

Stafford.

It is Sir Ralph,
And muttering to himself as heretofore.
Sir, see you aught up yonder ?

Bagenhall.

I miss something.
The tree that only bears dead fruit is gone.

SCBNB I.]

What tree, sir '?

Queen Mary.
Stafford.

Baoenmall.

Well, the tree in Virgil, sir,
That bears not its own apples.

Stafford.

What ! the gallows ?

Baoenhall.

Sir, this dead fruit was ripening overmnoh,
And had to be removed lest livmg Spain
Should sicken at dead England.

Stafford.
But that a shock may rouse her.

Baoenhall.

Not so dead,

I belieye

Sir Thomas Stafford?

Stafford.
I am ill disguised.

Bagenhall.
Well, are you not in peril here ?

Stafford.

I think so.
I came to feel the pulse of England, whether
It beats hard at this marriage. Did you see it t

Baoenhall.

Stafford, I am a sad man and a serioui.
Far liefer had I in my country hall

'i'

Queen Mary.

[act III.

Been reading some old book, with mine old hound
Crouch'd at my hearth, and mine old flask of wine
Beside me, than have seen it, yet I saw it.

St^ffobd.
Good, was it splendid ?

Baoenhall.

Ay, if Dukes, and Earls,
And Counts, and sixty Spanish cavaliers,
Some six or seven Bishops, diamonds, pearls.
That royal commonplace too, cloth of gold.
Could make it so.

Stafford.
And what was Mary's dress ?

Baobntcall.

Good faith, I was too sorry for the woman
To mark the dress. She wore red shoes !

Stafford.

Baoenhall.

Bed shoes !

Scarlet, as if her feet were wash'd in blood,
As if she had waded in it.

Stafford.

Were your eyes
So bashf uJ that you look'd no higher ?

Baoei^hall.

And Philip's gift, as proof of Philip's love.
Who hath not any for any, — tho' a true one,
Blazed false upon her heart.

A diamond,

SCENE l] Queen Mary, 79

Stafford.

But thia proud Prince —

Baoenhall.

Nay, he is King, you know, the King of Naples.
The father ceded Naples, that the son
Being a King, might wed a Queen — O he
Flamed in brocade — white satin his trunk hose,
Inwrought with silver, — on his neck a collar,
Gold, thick with diamonds ; hanging down from this
The Golden Fleece — and round his knee, misplaced,
Our English Garter, studded with great emeralds,
Rubies, T know not what. Have you had enough
Of all this gear ?

Stafford.

Ay, since you hate the telling it.
How look'd the Queen 1

Baoenhall.

No fairer for her jewels.
And I could see that as the new-made couple
Came from the Minster, moving side by side
Beneath one canopy, ever and anon
She cast on him a vassal smile of love.
Which Philip with a glance of some distaste,
Or so methought, retum'd. I may be wrong, sir.
This marriage will not hold.

Stafford.

I think with you.
The King of France will help to break it.

Baoenhall.

France !
We once had half of France, and hurPd our battles
Into the heart of Spain ; but England now

•*>'• k

Queen Ma/ry.

[act in.

Is but a ball chuck'd between France and Spain
His in whose hand she drops ; Harry of Bolingbroke
Had holpen Richard^s tottering throne to stand,
Could Harry have foreseen that all our nobles
Would perish on the civil slaughter-field,
And leave the people naked to the crown,
And the crown naked to the people ; the crown
Female, too I Sir, no woman's regimen
Can save us. We are fallen, and as I think.
Never to rise again.

Stappord.

You are too black-blooded.
I'd make a move myself to hinder that :
I know some lusty fellows there in France.

Baoenhall.

You would but make us weaker, Thomas Stafford.
Wyatt was a good soldier, yet he failed,
And strengthen'd Philip.

Stafpokd.

Did not his last breath
Clear Oouitenay and the Princess from the charge
Of being his co-rebels ?

Baqenhall.

Ay, but then
What such a one as Wyatt says is nothing :
We have no men among us. The new Lords
Arr quieted vith their sop of Abbeylands,
Anu av'n before the Queen's face Gardiner buys them
With Philip's gold. All greed, no faith, no courage |
Why, ev'n the haughty prince, Northumberland,
The leader of our Reformation, knelt
And blubber'd like a lad, and on the scaffold
Recanted, and resold himself to Rome.

>!i

HOEXE I.]

Queen Mas-y.

Stafford .

I swear yoii do your country wrong, Sir Ralph.

I know a set of exiles over there,

Dare-devils, that would eat 3re and spit it out

At Philip's beard ; they pillage Spain already.

The French king winks at it. An hour will come

When they will sweep her from the seas. No men ?

Did not Lord Suffolk die like a truo man ?

Is not Lord William Ho^ ard a true man ?

Yea, you yourself, altho' you are black-blooded :

And Ij by God, believe myself a man.

Ay, even in the church there is a man —

Granmer.

Fly, would he not, when all men bad him fly.

And what a otter h^ wrote against the Pope !

There's a brave man, if any.

Baoenhall.

Ay ; if it hold.

Crowd {comirig on),
God save their Graces !

Stafford.

Bagenhall, I see
The Tudor green and white. {Trumpets.)

coming now.
And here's a crowd as thick as herring-shoals.

Bagenhall.

Be limpets to this pillar, or we are torn
Down the strong wave of brawlers.

They are

Crowd.

God save their Graces !

[Procesaion of Tnimpeteraj Javelin-menf etc. ; then
Spanish and Flemish Nobles intermiiigled.
V

Queen Mary.
Stafford.

[act III.

Worth seeing, Bagenhall ! These black dog-Dons
Garb themselves bravely. Who's the long-face there,
Looks very Spain of very Spain ?

Baoenhall.

The Duke

Of Alva, an iron soldier.

Stafford.

And the Dutchman,
Now laughing at some jest ?

Bagenhall.

William the Silent.

William of Orange,

Stafford. '

Why do they call him so ?

Bagenhall.

He keeps, they say, some secret that may cost
Philip his life.

Stafford.
But then he looks so merry.

Bagenhall.
I cannot tell you why they call him so.

[Tlie Kino and Queen pass, atteided by Peers
v(f the liealMf Oj^cers of State, the. Cannon
shot off.

Crowd.

p and Mj
Long live the King and Queen, Philip and Mary.

Philip and Maiy, Philip and Mary.
" Kii

^!!i"

SCENE I.] Queen Mary. 88

Stafford.
They smile as if content with one another.

Baoenhall.

A smile abroad is oft a scowl at home.

[Kino and Queen pass on. Procession,]

First Citizen.

I thought this Philip had been one of those black devils of
Spain, but he hath a yellow beard.

Second Citizen.
Not red like Iscariot's.

First Citizen.

Like a carrot's, as thou say'st, and English carrot's better
than Spanish licorice ; but I thought he was a beast.

Third Citizen.

Certain I had heard that every Spaniard carries a tail like
a devil under his trunk hose.

Tailor.

Ay, but see what trunk-hoses ! Lord ! they be fine ; I
never stitch'd none such. They make amends fur the tails.

Fourth Citizen.

Tut ! every Spanish prif t will tell you that all Eiiglish here-
tics have taUs.

Fifth Citizen.
Death and the Devil — if he find I have one —

Fourth Citizen.

Lo ! thou hast call'd them up ! here they come — a pale
horst) for Death and Gardiner for the Devil.

'I
1

84 Queen Mary. [Acr m.

Enter Gardik "vl (turning hack from the procession).

Gardiner.
KjiftT .>, wilt thou wear thy cap before the Queen ?

Man.

My Lord, I stand bo squeezeil among the crowd
I cannot lift my iiands unto my hoad.

Gardiner.

Kjiock off his cap there, some of you about him !
See there be others that can use their hands.
Thou art one of Wyatt's men ?

Man.

No, my Lord, no.

Gardiner. *

Thy name, thou knave ?

Man.

I am nobody, my Lord.

Gardiner (slwuting).
God's passion ! knave, thy '^ame ?

Man.

I have ears to hear.

Gardiner.

Ay, rascal, if I leave thee ears to hear.

Find out his name and bring it to me {to Attendant).

Attendant.

Ay, my Lord,

srsNF. I.]

Queen Mary,
Uabdineb.

i^n^ve, "oliou shalt lose thine ears and fir 4 thy ton^oe,
AaU sh.'vit be thankful if I leave thee that.

[Coming before the Cond i.
The conduit painted — the nine worthies — ay !
But then what's here 1 King Harry with a scroll.
Ha — Verbum Dei — verbum — word of God !
God's passion ! do you know the knave that painted it ?

I do, my Lord.

Attendant.

Gabdineb.

Tell him to paint it out,
And put some fresh device in lieu of it —
A pair of gloves, a pair of gloves, sir ; ha ? .
There is no heresy there.

Attendant.

I will, my Lord.
The man shall paint a pair of gloves. I am sure
(Knowing the man) he wrought it ignorantly,
And not from any malice.

Gabdikeb.

Word of God
In English ! over this the brainless loons
Tliat cannot spell Esaias from St. Paul,
Make themselves drunk and mad, fly out and flare
Into rebellions. I'll have their bibles burnt.
The bible is the priest's. Ay ! fellow, what !
Stand staring at me ! shout, you gapirg rogue.

Man.

I have, my Lordj shouted tiU I am hoarse,

86 Queen Marg.

Gardiner.
What hast thou shouted, knave ?

Man.

[act III.

Long live Queen Mary.

Gardiner.

Knave, there be two. There be both King and Queen
Philip and Mary. Shout.

Man.

Nay, but, my Lord,
The Queen comes first, Mary and Philip.

Gardiner.

Mary and Pliilip.

Shout, then,

Man.
Mary and Philip !

Gardiner.

Now,
Thou hast shouted for thy pleasure, shout for mine !
Plxilip and Mary !

Man.
Must it be so, my Lord ?

Gardiner.

Ay, knave.

M*N.

|^hih|' and Mary.

SCENE I.]

Thine is
What is

Where d

Sign of t

Rascal !-
One crat
But so 1
Spite of
And oth
I will si
Sharp w
Follow t

"'"'

[act III. I SCENE I.]

Queen Mary.
Gardinbk.

ill

I distrust +hee.
Thine is a half voice and a lean assent.
What is thy name ?

IVLvN.

Sanders.

Gardiner.

What else ?

Man.

Zerubbabel.

Where dost thou live ?

Sign of the Talbot.

Gardiner.

Man.
In Comhill.

Gardiner.

Where, knave, where ?

Mi N .

Gardiner.

Come to me to-morrow. —
Rascal ! — this land is like a hill of tire.
One crater opens when another shuts.
But so I get the laws against the heretic,
Spite of Lord Paget and Lord William Howard,
And others of our Parliament revived,
I will show tire on my side — stake and fire —
Sharp work and short. The knaves are easily cow'd.
Follow their Majesties.

[Exit. TJie cnm:d folloimuj.

88 Queen Mary, " [act m.

Baoenhall.
Ab proud as Becket.

Stafford.
You would not have him murder'd as Becket was ?

Bagbnhall.

No — murder fathers murder : but I say
There is no man — there was one woman with us —
It was a sin to love her married, dead
I cannot choose but love her.

Stafford,

Lady Jane ?

Crowd (going off).
God save their Graces.

Stafford.

Did you see her die ?

Baoenhall.

No, no ; her innocent blood had blinded me.
You call me too black-blooded — true enough
Her dark dead bloc t is in my heart with mine.
If ever I cry out against the Pope
Her dark dead blood that ever moves with mine
Will stir the living tongue and make the cry.

Stafford.
Yet doubtless you can tell me how she died ?

Bagenhall.

Seventeen — and knew eight languages — in music
Peerless — her needle perfect, and her learning

8CENB I.]

Queen Mary.

Beyond the churchmen ; yet so meek, so modest,

So wife-like humble to the trivial boy

Mismatched with her for policy ! I have heard

She would not take a last farewell of him,

She fear'd it might unman him for his end.

She could not be unmanned — no, nor outwoman'd —

Seventeen — a rose of grace !

Girl never breathed to rival such a rose ;

Rose never blew that equalled such a bud.

Pray you go on.

Stafford.

Baoenhall.

She came upon the scaffold.
And said she was condemn'd to die for treason ;
She had but follow 'd the device of those
Her nearest kin : she thought they knew the laws.
But for herself, she knew but little law,
And nothing of the titles to the crown ;
She had no desire for that, and wrung her hands.
And trusted God would save her thro* the blood
Of Jesus Christ alone.

Stafford.
Pray you go on. ,

Baoenhall.

Then knelt and said the Miserere Mei —
But all in English, mark you ; rose again,
And, when the headsman pray'd to be forgiven.
Said *' You will give me my true crown at last,
. But do it quickly ; " then all wept but she.
Who changed not colour when she saw the block.
But ask'd him, childlike : ** Will you take it off
Before I lay me down ? " No, madam, he said,
Gasping ; and when her innocent eyes were bound,
She, with her poor blind hands feeling — ** where is it ?
Where is it ? " — You must fancy that which followed,
If you have heart to do it !

90 Qiueen Mary. [act hi.

Crowd (in the distance.)

God save their Graces !

Stafford.

Their Graces, our disgraces ! God confound them !
Why, she's grown bloodier ! when I last was here,
This was against her conscience — would be murder !

Baoenhall.

The " Thou shalt do no murder," which God's hand
Wrote on her conscience, Mary rubb'd out pale —
She could not make it white — and over that.
Traced in the blackest text of Hell— ** Thou shalt ! "
And sign'd it — Mary !

Stafford.

Philip and the Pope
Must have sign'd too. I hear this Legate's coming
To bring us absolution from the Pope.
The Lords and Commons will bow down before him —
You are of the house ? what will you do, Sir Ralph ?

Bagenhall.

And why should I be bolder than the rest,
Or honester than all ?

Stafford.

But, sir, if I —
And oversea they say this state of yours
Hath no more mortice than a tower of cards ;
And that a puff would do it — then if I
And others made that move I touch'd upon,
Bapk'd by the power of France, and landing here,
Came with a sudden splendour, shout, and show,
And dazzled men and deafen'd by some bright
Loud venture, and the people so unquiet —

SCENE I.]

Queen Mary.

Aiid I the race of murdei'd Buckingham —
Not for myself, but for the kingdom — Sir,
I trust that you would fight along with us.

Baoenhall.
No ; you would fling your lives into the gulf.

Stafford.

But if this Philip, as he's like to do,

Left Mary a wife-widow here alone.

Set up a viceroy, sent his myriads hither

To seize upon the forts and fleet, and make us

A. Spanish province ; would you not fight then ?

Baoenhall.
I think I should fight then.

Stafford.

T am sure of it.
Hist ! there's the face coming on ^ ere of one
Who knows me. I must leave you. Fare you well,
You'll hear of me again.

Baoenhall.

Upon the scaffold.

[JExeunt.

SCENE II.— ROOM IN WHITEHALL PALACE.
Mary. Enter Philip and Cardinal Pole.

Pole.

Ave Maria, gratia plena, Benedicta tu in mulieribus.

Mary,

Loyal and royal cousin, humblest thanks.
Had you a pleasant voyage up the river ?

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Queen Ma^ry.

Fact hi.

Pole.

We had your royal barge ;, and that same chair,
Or' rather throne of purple, on the deck.
Our silver cross sparkled before the prow,
The ripples twinkled at their diamond-dance,
The boats that foUow'd, were as glowing-gay
As regal gardens ; and your flocks of swans,
As fair and white as angels ; and your shores
Wore in mine eyes the green of Paradise.
My foreign friends, who dream'd us blanketed
In ever-closing fog, were much amazed
~ To find as fair a sun as might have flash'd
Upon their lake of Garda, fire the Thames ;
Our voyage by sea was all but miracle :
And here the river flowing from the sea,
Not toward it (for they thought not of our tides),
Seem'd as a happy miracle to make glide —
In quiet — home your banish'd countiyman.

Mary.
We heard that you were sick in Flanders, cousin.

Pole.
A dizziness.

Mary.

And how came you round again ?

Pole.

The scarlet thread of Rahab saved her life ;
And mine, a little letting of the blood.

Well ? now ?

Mary.

Pole.

Ay, cousin, as the heathen giant
Hod but to touch the ground, his force r^turn'd— ^

SCENE n.]

Qv.een Mary.

Thus, after twenty years of banishment,
Feeling my native land beneath my foot,
I said thereto : ** Ah, native land of mine,
Thou art much beholden to this foot of mine.
That hastes with full commission from the Pope
To absolve thee from thy guilt of heresy.
Thou hast disgraced me and attainted me.
And mark'd me ev'p as Cain, and I return
As Peter, but to bless thee : make me well."
Methinks the good land heard me, for to-day
My heart beats twenty, when I see you, cousin.
Ah, gentle cousin, since your Herod's death,
How oft hath Peter knock'd at Mary's gate !
And Mary would have risen and let him in,
But, Mary, there were those within the house
Who would not have it.

Mary.

True, good cousin Pole
And there were also those without the house
Who would not have it.

Pole.

I believe so, cousin.
State-policy and church-policy are conjoint,
But Janus-faces looking diverse ways.
I fear the Emperor much misvalued me.
But all is well ; 'twas ev'n the will of God,
Who, waiting till the time had ripen'd, now.
Makes me his mouth of holy greeting. " Hail,
Daughter of God, and saver of the faith.
Sit benedictus fructus ventris tui ! "

Ah, heaven !

Mary.

Pole.
Unwell, your Grace ?

Que .1 Mary.
Mary.

[A.CT III.

No, cousin, happy —

Happy to see you ; never yet so happy
Since I was crowned.

Pole.

Sweet cousin, you forget
That long low minster where you gave your hand
To this great Catholic King.

Philip.

Marv.

Well said, Lord Legate.

Nay, not well said ; I thought of you, my liege,
Ev'n as I spoke.

Philip.

Ay, Madam ; my Lord Paget
Waits to present our Council to the Legate.
Sit down here, all ; Madam, between us you.

Pole.

Lo, now you are enclosed witH boards of cedar,
Our little sister of the Song of Songs !
You are doubly fenced and shielded sitting here
Between the two most high-set thrones on earth,
The Emperor's Highness happily symboUed by
The King your husband, the Pope's Holiness
By mine own self.

Mary.

True, cousin, I am happy.
When wiU you that we summon both our houi|eB
To take this absolution from your lips.
And be regather'd to the Papal fold ?

SCENE 11.]

Queen Mary.
Pole.

In Britain's calendar the brightest day
Beheld our rough forefathers break their Gods,
And clasp the faith in Christ ; but after that
Might not St. Andrew's be her happiest day ?

Mary.

Then these shall meet upon St. Andrew's day.

Enter Paget, who presents the Council. Dumb show.

Pole.

I am an old man wearied with my journey,
Ev'n with my joy. Permit me to withdraw.
To Lambeth ?

Philip.

Ay, Lambeth has ousted Cranmer.
It was not meet the heretic swine should live
In Lambeth.

Mary.
There or anywhere, or at alL

Philip.
We have had it s^ept and gamish'd after him.

Pole.
Not for the seven devils to enter in ?

Philip.
No, for we trust they parted in the swine.

Pole.

True, and I am the Angel of the Pope.
Farewell, your Graces.

Queen Mary.
Philip.

[act III.

Nay, not here — to me ;
I will go with you to the waterside.

Pole.
Not be my Charon to the counter side ?

Philip.
No, my Lord Legate, the Lord Chancellor goes.

Pole.

And unto no dead world ; but Lambeth palace,
Henceforth a centre of the living faith.

[Exeunt Philip, Pole, Paget, <fcc.

Manet Mart.

He hath awaked ! he hath awaked !

He stirs within the darkness !

Oh, Philip, husband ! now thy love to mine

Will cling more close, and those bleak manners thaw,

That make me shamed and tongue-tied in my love.

The second Prince of Peace —

The great unborn defender of the Faith,

Who will avenge me of mine enemies —

He comes and my star rises.

The stormy Wyatts and Northumberlands,

The proud ambitious of Elizabeth,

And all her fieriest partisans — are pale

Before my star !

The light of thie new learning wanes and dies :

The ghosts of Luther and Zuinglius fade

Into the deathless hell which is their doom

Before my star !

His sceptre shall go forth from Ind to Ind !

His sword shall hew the heretic peoples down !

His faith shall clothe the world that will be his,

Like universal sunshine ! Open,

SCENE II.]

Q^ieen Mary.

Ye everlasting gates ! The King is here ! —
My star, my son !

Enter Philip, Duke op Alva, &c.

Oh, Philip, come with me ;
Good news have I to tell you, news to make
Both of us happy — ay, the Eongdom too.
Nay come with me — one moment !

PHHiiP {to Alva^.

More than that
There was one here of late— William the Silent
They call him — he is free enough in talk,
But tells me nothing. You will be, we trust.
Sometime the viceroy of those provinces —
He must deserve his surname better.

AlVA.

Inherit the Great Silence.

Ay, sir ;

Philip.

True ; the provinces
Are hard to rule and must be hardly ruled ;
Most fruitful, yet, indeed, an empty rind,
All hoUow'd out with stinging heresies ;
And for their heresies, Alva, they will fight :
You must break them or they break you.

Alva (proiuHy).

The first.

Philip.

Good ! ^

Well, Madam, this new happiness of mine.

[Exeunt.

08 Queen Mary.

Enter Three Pages.

First Page.

News, mates ! a miracle, a miracle ! news !
The bells must ring ; Te Deums must be sung ;
The Queen hath felt the motion ol: her babe !

[act III.

Ay ; but see here !

Second Page.

First Page.

Second Page.

See what ?

This paper, Dickon .
I found it fluttering at the palace gates : —
** The Queen of England is delivered of a dead dog ! "

Third Page.
These are the things that madden her. Fie upon it.

First Page.

Ay ; but I hear she hath a dropsy, lad,
Or a high-dropsy, as the doctors call it.

Third Page.

Fie on her dropsy, so she have a dropsy !
1 know that she was ever sweet to me.

, First Page.

Fcr thou and thine are Roman to the core.

Third Page.
So thou and thine must be. Take heed !

SCENE II.]

Queen Mary.

First Page.

Not I,
And whether this flash of news be false or true,
So r-he wine run, and there be revelry,
Content am I. Let all the steeples clash,
Till the sun dance, as upon Easter Day.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.— GREAT HALL IN WHITEHALL.

[A t the far end a dais. On this three chairs, two imder one
canopy for Mary and Philip, another on the right of these
for Pole. Under the dais on Pole's side, ranged along
the wall J sit all the Spiritual Peers, and along the wall op-
posite, all the Temporal. The Commons on cross benches
in front, a line of approach to the dais between them. In
the foreground Sir Ralph Baoenhall atid other Mem-
bers of the Commons.]

First Member.

St. AndreVs day ; sit close, sit close, we are friends.
Is reconciled the word ? the Pope again t
It must be thus ; and yet, cocksbody ! how strange
That Gardiner, once so rne with all of us
Against this foreign marriage, should have yielded
So utterly ! — strange ! >>ut stranger still that he,
So fierce against the Headship of the Pope,
Should play the second actor in this pageant
That brings him in ; such a cameleon he !

Second Member.

This Gardiner tum'd his coat in Henry's time ;
The serpent that hath sloughed will slough again.

Third Member.
Tut, then we all are serpents.

i;;

100 Queen Mary. [act m.

Second Member.

Speak for yourself.

Thihd Member.

^ y, and for Gardiner ! being Engl'sh citizen,
How should he bear a bridegioom out of Spain ?
The Queen would have him ! being English churchman
How should he bear the head,ihip of the Pope 1
The Queen would have it ! Statesmen that are wise
.Shape a necessity, as the sculptor clay,
To their own model.

Second Member.

Statesmen that are wise
Take truth herself for model, what say you ?

[To Sir Ralph Baoenhall.

Bagenhall.

We talk and talk.

First Member.

Ay, and what use to talk ?
Philip's no sudden alien — the Queen's husband.
He's hertn, and king, or will be — ^yet cocksbody !
So hated here ! I watch'd a hive of late ;
My seven-years' friend was with me, my young boy
Out crept a wasp, with half the swarm behind.
" Philip," says he. I had to cuff the rogue
For infant treason.

Third Member.

But they say that bees,
If any creeping life invade their hive
Too gross to be thrust out, will build him round.
And bind him in from harming of their combs.
And Philip by these articles is bound
From stirring hand or foot to wrong the realm.

GENHALL.

SCENE III.]

Queen Mary.
Second Member.

101

By bonds of beeswax, like your creeping thing ;
But your wise bees had stung him first to death.

Third Member.

Hush, hush !

You wrong the Chancellor : the clauses added
To that same treaty which the emperor sent us
Were mainly Gardiner's : that no foreigner
Hold office in the household, fleet, forts, army ;
That if the Queen should die without a child,
The bond between the kingdoms be dissolved ;
That Philip should not mix us any way
With his French wars —

Second Member.

Ay, ay, but what security,

Good sir, for this, if Philip-

Philip, and Pole.

Third Member.

Peace — the Queen,

[All rise J mid stand.

Enter Mary, Philip, and Pole.

[Gardiner conducts them to the three chairs of
state. Philip sits on the Queen's left^
Pole on her right.

Gardiner.

Our short-lived sun, before his winter plunge.
Laughs at the last red leaf, and Andrew's Da^,

Mart.

Should not this day be held in after years
More solemn than of old ?

^'f

102

[act III.

Queen Mary.

Philip.

Madam, my wish
Echoes your Majesty's.

Pole.
It shall be so.

Gardiner.

Mine echoes both your Graces' ; (aside) but the Pop
Can we not have the Catholic church as well
Without as with the Italian ? if we cannot,
Why then the Pope.

My lords of the upper house,
And ye, my masters, of the lower house,
Do ye stand fast by that which ye resolved ?

We do.

Voices.

Gardiner.

And be you all one mind to supplicate

The Legate here for pardon, and acknowledge

The primacy of the Pope ?

Voices.

We are all one mind.

Gardiner.

Then must I play the vassal to this Pole. [Aside.

[He draws a paper from under his robes and presents

it to the King and Queen, who look through

it and retun. it to him ; then ascends a tribune

and reads. •

We, the Lords Spiritual and Temporal,

And Commons here in Parliament assembled,

Presenting the whole body of this realm

SCENE III.]

Queen Mary.

103

Of England, and«dominions of the same^

Do ma]ke most humble suit unto your Majesties,

In our own name and that of all the state,

That by your gracious means and intercession

Our supplication be exhibited

To the Lord Cardinal Pole, sent here as Legate

From our most holy father Julius, Pope,

And from the apostolic see of Rome ;

And do declare our penitence and grief

For our long schism and disobedience.

Either in making laws and ordinances

Against the Holy Father's primacy,

Or else by doing or by speaking aught

Which might impugn or prejudice the same ;

By this our supplication promising.

As well for our own selves as all the realm.

That now we be and ever shall be quick,

Under and with your Majesties' authorities.

To do to the utmost all that in us lies

Towards the abrogation and repeal

Of all such laws and ordinances made ;

Whereon we humbly pray your Majesties,

As persons undefiled with our offence,

So to set forth this humble suit of ours

That we the rather by your intercession

May from the apostolic see obtain.

Thro' this most reverend Father, absolution.

And full release from danger of all censures

Of Holy Church that we be fall'n into,

So that we may, as children penitent.

Be once more received into the bosom

And unity of Universal Church ;

And that this noble reolm thro' after years

May in this unity and obedience

Unto the holy see and reigning Pope

Serve God and both your Majesties.

Voices.

^ Amen. [All sit.

[He again presents the petition to the King
and Queen, who hand it reverentially to

J*OLE.

104

Queen Mary.

[act hi.

Pole (sitting).

This is the loveliest day that ever smiled
On England. All her breath s^'ould, incense-like, ^
Rise to the heavens in grateful praise of Him
Who now recalls her to His ancient fold.
Lo ! once again God to this realm hath given
A token of His more especial Grace ;
For as this people were the first of all
The islands call'd into the dawning church
Out of the dead, deep night of heathendom,
So now are these the nrit whom God hath given
Grace to repent and sorrow for their schism ;
And if your penitence be not mockery.
Oh how the blessed angels who rejoice
Over one saved do triumph at thi« hour
In the reborn salvation of a lane'

So noble. [A pan^c.

I f 0. ** dives we do protest
That our comndssion is to ^ w, . v larm ;
We come not to condemn recoj .cile ;

We come not to compel, b^ , call again ;
We come not to destroy, but edify ;
Nor yet to question things already done ;
These are forgiven — matters of the past —
And range with jetsam and with offal thrown
Into the blind sea of foi^etfuluess.

[A pause.
Ye have reversed the attainder laid on us
By him who sack'd the house of God ; and we,
Amplier than any field on our poor earth
Can render thanks in fruit for being sown,
Do here and now repay you sixty-fold,
A hundred, yea a thousand thousand-fold,
With heaven for earth.

[Bising and stretching forth his hands. All kneel
hut Sir Ralph Bagbnhall, who rises and
remains standing.

The Lord who hath redeemed us
With His own blood, and wash'd us from our sins,
To purchase for Himself a stainless bride ;

SCENE III.]

Queen Mary.

105

He, whom the Father hath appointed Head

Of all His church, He by His mercy absolve you !

[A pause.
And we by that authority Apostolic
Given unto us, his Legate, by the Pope,
Our Lord and Holy Father, Julius,
God's Vicar and Vicegerent upon earth.
Do here absolve you and deliver you
And every one of you, and all the realm
And its dominions from all heresy.
All schism, and from all and every censure.
Judgment, and pain accruing thereupon :
And also we restore you to the bosom
And unity of Universal Church. {Turning to Gardiner.
Our letters of commission will declare this plainlier.

[Queen heard sobbing. Cries of Amen ! Amen !
Some of the members embrace one another. All
but Sir Ralph Bagenhall pa^ out into the
neighbouring chapel^ whence is heard the Te
Deum.

Baoenxall.

We strove against the papacy from the first,

In William's time, in our first Edward's time,

And in my master Henry's time ; but now,

The unity of Universal Church,

Mary would have it ; and this Gardiner follows ;

The unity of Universal Hell,

Philip would have it ; and this Gardiner follows !

A Parliament of imitative apes !

Sheep at the gap which Gardiner takes, who not

Believes the Pope, nor any of them believe —

These spaniel-Spaniard English of the time,

Who rub their fawning noses in the dust.

For that is Philip's gold-dust, and adore

This Vicar of their Vicar. Would I had been

Bom Spaniard ! I had held my head up then.

I am ashamed that I am Bagenhall,

English.

106 Queen Mary.

Enter Officer.

Officer.
Sir Ralph Bagenhall.

Baqenhall.

What of that ?

Officer.

You were the one sole man in either house
Who stood upright when both the houses fell.

[act ni.

The houses fell !

Before the Legate.

Baoenhall.

Officer.

I mean the houses knelt

Bagenhall.

Do not scrimp your phrase,
But stretch it wider ; say when England fell.

Officer.
I say you were the one sole man who stood.

Bagenhall.

I am the one sole man in either house,
Perchance in England, loves her like a son.

Officer.

Well, you one man, because you stood upright,
Her Grace the Queen commands you to the Tower,

SCENE III.] Queen Mary. 107

Baoenhall.
As traitor, or as heretic, or for what ?

Officer.

If any man in any way would be

The one man he shall be so to his cost.

Baoenhall.
What ! will she have my head ?

Officer.

A round fine likelier.
Your pardon. [Calling to A ttendant

By the river to the Tower.

[Exeunt.

■■'.•M,,

> -J

SCENE IV.— WHITEHALL. A ROOM IN THE

PALACE.

Mary, Gardiner, Pole, Paget, Bonner, &c.

Mary.

The King and I, my Lords, now that all traitors
Against our royal state have lost the heads
Wherewith they plotted in their treasonous malice.
Have talk'd together, and are well agreed
That those old statutes touching Lollardism
To bring the heretic to the stake, should be
No longer a dead letter, but requicken'd.

One of the Council.

Why, what hath fluster'd Gardiner ? how he rubs
His forelock.

f ' . ;^.-\ t

Sli !,

108

Queen Ma/ry.
Paget.

[act III.

I have changed a word with him
In coming, and may change a word again.

Gardiner.

Madcm, your Highness is our sun, the King

And ycm together our two suns in one ;

And BO the beams of both may shine upon us,

The faith that seem'd to droop will feel your light,

Lift head, and flourish ; yet not light alone,

There must be heat — there must be heat enough

To scorch and wither heresy to the root.

For what saith Christ ? " Compel them to come in."

And what saith Paul ? "I would they were cut off

That trouble you." Let the dead letter live !

Trace it in fire, that all the louts to whom

Their A B C is darkness, clowns and grooms

May read it ! so you quash rebellion too.

For heretic and traitor are all one :

Two vipers of one breed — an amphisboena.

Each end a sting : Let the dead letter bum !

Paget.

Yet there be some disloyal Catholics,
And many heretics loyal ; heretic throats
Cried no God-bJess-her to the Lady Jane,
But shouted in Queen Mary. So there be
Some traitor-heretic, there is axe and cord.
To take the lives of others that are loyal,
And by the churchman's pitiless doom of fire.
Were but a thankless policy in the crown,
Ay, and against itself ; for there are many.

Mary.

If we could bum out heresy, my Lord Paget,
We reck not tho' we lost this crown of England — ^
Ay ! tho' it were ten Englands !

aCENB IV.]

Queen Mary.

Gardiner.

109

Right, your Grace.
Paget, you are all for this poor life of ours,
And care but little for the life to be.

Paget.

I have some time, for curiousness, my Lord,
Watch'd children playing at their life to be.
And cruel at it, killing helpless flies ;
Such is our time — all times for aught I know.

Gardiner.

We kill the heretics that sting the soul —

They, with right reason, flies that prick the flesh.

Paobt.

They had not reach'd right reason ; little children !
They kill'd but for their pleasure ai*d the power
They felt in killing.

Gardiner.

A spice of Satan, ha !
Why, good ! what then ? granted ! — we are fallen creatures 1
Look to your Bible, Paget ! we are fallen.

Paget.

I am but of the laity, my Lord Bishop,
And may not read your Bible, yet I found
One day, a wholesome scripture, '' Little children.
Love one another.''

Gardiner.

Did you find a Scripture,
" I come not to bring peace but a sword." The sword
Is in her Grace's hand to smito with. Paget,
You stand up here to fight for heresy,

mtJ^* f -

110

Queen Mary.

[act ni.

You are more than guess'd at as a heretic,
And on the steep-up track of the true faith
Your lapses are far seen.

Paget.
The faultless Gardiner !

Mary.
You brawl beyond the question ; speak, Lord Legate.

Pole.

Indeed, I cannot follow with your Grace,
Rather would say — the shepherd doth not kill
The sheep that wander from his flock, but sends
His careful dog to bring them to the fold.
Look to the Netherlands, wherein have been
Such holocausts of heresy ! to what end ?
For yet the faith is not established there .

The end's not come.

Gardiner.

Pole.

No— nor this way will come.
Seeing there lie two ways to every end,
A better and a worse — the worse is here
To persecute, because to persecute
Makes a faith hated, and is furthermore
No perfect witness of a perfect faith
In him who persecutes : when men are tost
On tides of strange opinion, and not sure
Of their own selves, they are wroth with their own selves,
And thence with others ; then, who lights the faggot )
Not the full faith, no, but the lurking doubt.
Old Rome, that first made martyrs in the Church,
Trembled f o" her own gods, for these were trembling —
But when did jur Rome tremble ?

SOBNE IV.]

Queen Mary.

Ill

Paget.

Id Henry's time and Edward's '^

Pole.

Did she not

' ■(

What, my Lord !
The Church on Peter's rock ? never ! I have seen
A pine in Italy that cast its shadow
Athwart a cataract ; firm stood the pine —
The cataract shook the shadow. To my mind,
The cataract typed the headlong plunge and f sdl
Of heresy to the pit : the pine was Rome.
You see, my Lords,

It was the shadow of the Church that trembled ;
Your church was but the shadow of a church,
Wanting the triple mitre.

Here be tropes*

Gabdineb {miUtering).

Pole.

And tropes are good to clothe a naked truth, . .

And make it look more seemly.

Gardiner.

Tropes again !

Pole.

You are hard to please. Then without tropes, my Lord.

An overmuch severeness, I repeat,

When faith is wavering makes the waverer pass

Into more settled hatred oi' the doctrines

Of those who rule, which hatred by-and-by

Involves the ruler (thus there springs to l^ht

That Centaur of a monstrous Commonweal,

The traitor-heretic) then tho' some may quail,

Yet others are that dare the stake and fire,

; HI

<« -I

iHi

112

Queen Mary.

[act II r.

And there strong torment bravely borne, begets

An admiration and an indignation,

And hot desire to imitate ; so the plague

Of schism spreads ; were there but three or four

Of these misleaders, yet I would not say *

Bum ! and we cannot bum whole towns ; they are many,

As my Lord Pagetlsays.

Gabdineb.
Yet my Lord Cardinal —

Pole.

I am your Legate ; please you let me finish,
Methinks that under our Queen's regimen
We might go softlier than with crimson rowel
And streaming lash. When Herod-Henry first
Began to batter at your English Church,
This was the cause, and hence the judgment on her.
She seethed with such adulteries ; and the lives
Of many among yo ir churchmen were so foul
That heaven wept and earth blush'd. I would advise
That we should thoroughly cleanse the Church within
Before these bitter statutes be requicken'd.
So after that, when she once more is seen
White as the light, the spotless bride of Christ,
Like Christ himself on Tabor, possibly
The Lutheran may be won to her again ;
Till when, my Lords, I counsel tolerance.

Gabdineb.

What if a mad dog bit your hand, my Lord,

Would you not chop the bitten finger oflf, '

Lest your whole body should madden with the poison ?

I would not, were I Queen, tolerate the heretic.

No, not an hour. The ruler of a land

Is bounden by his power and place to see

His people be not poison'd. Tolerate them !

Why ? do they tolerate you ? Nay, many of them

Would bum — have burnt each other ; call they not

SCENE IV.]

Queen Mary.

113

The one true faith, a loathgome idol-worship ?

Beware, Lord Legate, of a heavier crime

Than heresy is itself ; beware 1 say,

Lest men accuse you of indifference

To all faiths, all religion ; for you know

Right well that you yourself have been supposed

Tainted with Lutheranism in Italy.

Pole (angered).

But you, my Lord, beyond all supposition,
In clear and open day were congruent
With that vile Cranmer in the accurs 1 lie
Of good Queen Catherine's divorce — the spring
Of all those evils thai have flowed upon us ;
For you yourself have truckled to the tjnrant,
And done your best to bastardise our Queen,
For which God's righteous judgment fell upon you
In your five years of imprisonment, my Lord,
Under young Edward. Who so bolster'd up
The gross King's headship of the Church, or more
Denied the Holy Father !

Gaediner.

Ha ! what ! eh ?
But you, my Lord, a polish'd gentleman,
A bookman, flying from the heat and tussle,
You lived among your vines and oranges,
In your soft Italy yonder ! You were sent for,
You were appeal'd to, but you still preferr'd
Your learned leisure. As for what I did
I suffered and repented. You, Lord Legate .
And CardinpJ-Deacon, have not now to learn
That even St. Peter in his time of fear
Denied his master, ay, and thrice, my Lord.

Pole.
But »0i. for five-and-twenty years, my Lord,
U

114

Queen Mary.

[act III.

Gardtnbr.

Ha ! good ! it seems then I was summoned hither

But to be mook'd and baited. Speak, friend Bonner,

And tell this learned Legate he lacks zeal.

The Church's evil is not as the King's,

Cannot be heal'd by stroking. The mad I '

Must have the cautery — tell him — and at once.

What would'st thou do had'st thou his power, thou

That layest so long in heretic bonds with me.

Would'st thou not bum and blast them root and branch ?

Bonner.

Ay, after you, my Lord.

Gardiner.
Nay, God's passion, before me ! speak.

Bonner.
I am on fire until I see them fiame.

Gardiner.

Ay, the psalm-singing weavers, cobblers, scum- -
But this most noble prince Plantagenet,
Our good Queen's cousin — dallying over seas
Even when his brother's, nay, his noble mother's.
Head fell—

Pole.

Peace, madman !
Thou stirrest up a grief thou can'st not fathom.
Thou Christian Bishop, thou Lord Chancellor
Of England ! no more rein upon thine anger
Than any child ! Thou mak'st me much ashamed
That I was for a moment wroth at thee.

Mary.

1 come for counsel anc. ye give me feuds.
Like dogs that set to watch their master's gate,

SCENE IV.]

Queen Mary.

115

Fall, when the thief is eVn within the walls

To worrying one another. My Lord Chancellor,

You have an old trick of offending us ;

And but that you are art and part with us

In purging heresy, well we might, for this

Your violence and much roughness to the Legate,

Have shut you from our counsels. Cousin Pole,

You are fresh from brighter lands. Retire with me.

His Highness and myself (so you allow us)

Will let you learn in peace and privacy

What power this cooler sun of England hath

In breeding Godless vermin. And pray Heaven

That you may see according to our sight.

Come, cousin. [Exeunt Queen and Pole, d'C.

Gardiner.

Pole has the Plantagenet face,
But not the force made them our mightiest kings.
Fine eyes — but melancholy, irresolute —
A fine beard, Bonner, a very full fine beard.
But a weak mouth, an indeterminate — ha ?

Bonner.
Well, a weak mouth, perchance.

Gardiner.

And not like thine
To gorge a heretic whole, roasted or raw.

Bonner.

I'd do my best, my Lord ; but yet the Legate
Is here as Pope and Master of the Church,
And if he go not with you —

Gardiner.

Tut, Master Bishop,
Our bashful Legate, saw'st not how he flushed ?
Touch him upon his old heretical talk.

116

ill

^ i

Queen Mary.

[act III.

He'll burn a diocese to prove his orthodoxy.

And let him call me truckler. In those times,

Thou .knowest we had to dodge, or duck, or die ;

I kept my head for use of Holy Church ;

And see you, we shall have to dodge again,

And let the Pope trample our rights, and plunge

His foreign fist into our island Church

To plump the leaner pouch of Italy.

For a time, for a time.

Why ? that these statutes may be put in force.

And that His fan may thoroughly purge His floor.

Bonner.
So then you hold the Pope —

Gardiner. ,

I hold the Pope !
What do I hold him? what do I hold the Pope ?
Come, come, the morsel stuck — this Cardinal's fault —
I have gulpt it down. I am wholly for the Pope,
Utterly and altogether 'for the Pope,
The Eternal Peter of the changeless chair,
Crown'd slave of slaves, F~\d mitred king of kings,
God upon earth ! what more ? what would you have ?
Hence, let's be gone.

Enter Usher.

Usher.

Well that you be not gone,
My Lord. The Queen, most wroth at first wiui you,
Is now content to grant you full forgiveness,
So that you crave full pardon of the Legate.
I am sent to fetch you.

Gardiner.

Doth Pole jrield, sir, ha !
Did you hear 'em 1 were you by ?

SCENE IV.]

Queen Mary.
Usher.

117

I cannot tell yon,
His bearing is so courtly-delicate ;
And yet methinks he falters : their two Graces
Do so dear-cousin and royal-cousin him,
So press on him the duty which as Legate
He owes himself, and with such royal smiles —

Gabdinbr.

Smiles that bum men. Bonner, it will be carried.

He falters, ha ? ' fore God we change and change ;

Men now are bow'd and old, the doctors tell you,

At three-score years ; then if we change at aU

We needs must do it quickly ; it is an age

Of brief life, and brief purpose, and brief patience.

As I have shown to-day. I am sorry for it

If Pole be like to turn. Our old friend Cranmer,

Your more especial love, hath tum'd so often,

He knows not where he stands, which, if this pass,

We two shall have to teach him ; let 'em look to it,

Cranmer and Hooper, Ridley and Latimer,

Kogers and Ferrar, for their time is come,

Their hour is hard at hand, their " dies Iree,"

Their " dies Ilia," which will test their sect.

I feel it but a duty — you will find in it

Pleasure as well as duty, worthy Bonner, —

To test their sect. Sir, I attend the Queen

To crave most humble pardon — of her most

Royal, Infallible, Papal Legate-cousin.

[Exeunt.

SCENE v.— WOODSTOCK.

Elizabeth, Lady in Waiting.

Ladt.

The colours of our Queen are green and white.
These fields are only green, they make me gape.

M I

118 Queen Mary. [act m.

Elizabeth.
There's whitethorn, girl.

Lady.

Ay, for an hour in May.
But court is always May, buds out in masques,
Breaks into feathered merriments, and flowers
In silken pageants. Why do they keep us here ?
Why still suspect your Grace ?

Elizabeth.

Hard upon both.
[Writes on tlie window with a diamond.

Much suspected, of me
Nothing proven can be.

Quoth Elizabeth, prisoner.

Lady.
What hath your Highness written ?

Elizabeth.

A true rhyme.

Lady.
Cut with a diamond ; so to last like truth.

Elizabeth.
Ay, if truth last.

Lady.

But truth, they say, will out,
So it must last. It is not like a word,
That comes and goes in uttering.

[act III.

May.

re?

SCENE v.]

Queen Mar^y.
Elizabeth.

119

Truth, a word !
The very Truth and very Word are one.
But truth of story, which I glanced at, girl,
Is like a word that comes from olden days,
And passes thro' the peoples : every tongue
Alters it passing, till it spells and speaks
Quite other than at first.

Lady.
I do not follow.

I diamond.

oner.

me.

Elizabeth.

How many names in the long sweep of time
That so foreshortens greatness, may but hang
On the chance mention of some fool that once
Brake bread with us, perhaps ; and my poor chronicle
Is but of glass. Sir Henry Bedingfield
May split it for a spite.

Lady.

God grant it last,
And witness to your Grace's innocence,
Till doomsday melt it.

Elizabeth.

Or a second fire.
Like that which crackled underfoot
And in this very chamber, fuse the glass,
And char us back again into the dust
We spring from. Never peacock against rain
Scream'd as you did for water.

)Ut,

Lady.

And I got it.
I woke Sir Henry — and he's true to you —
I read his honest horror in his eyes.

120

Queen Mary.

[act hi.

Or true to you ?

Elizabeth.

Lady.

Sir Henry Bedingfield !
T will have no man true to me, your Grace,
But one that pares his nails ; to me ? the clown !
For, like his cloak, his manners want the nap
And gloss of court ; but of this fire he says.
Nay swears, it was no wicked wilfulness,
Only a natural chance.

' «

€ii'

Elizabeth.

A chance — perchance
One of those wicked wilfuls that men make,
Nor shame to call it nature. Nay, I know
They hunt my blood. Save for my daily range
Among the pleasant fields of Holy Writ
I might despair. But there hath some one come ;
The house is all in movement. Hence and see.

[Exit Lady.

Milkmaid (singmg without).

Shame upon you, Robin,

8hame upon you now !
Kiss me would you ? with my hands

Milking the cow ?

Daisies grow again,

Kingcups blow again,
And you came and kiss'd me milking the cow.

' Robin came behind me,

Kiss'd me well I vow ;
Cuflf him could I ? with my hands

Milking the cow ?

Swallows fly again.

Cuckoos cry again,
And you came and kiss'd me milking the cow.

ftCRNE v.]

Queen Mary.

121

Come, Robin, Robin,

Come and kiss me now ;
Help it can I ? with my hands

Milking the cow ?

Ringdoves coo again,

All things woo again,
Come behind and kiss me milking the cow ?

Elizabeth.

Right honest and red-cheek*d ; Robin rras violent,

And she "was crafty — a sweet violence,

And a sweet craft. I would I were a milkmaid,

To sing, love, marry, chum, brew, bake, and die,

Then have my simple headstone by the church.

And all things lived and ended honestly.

I could not if I would. 1 am Harry's daughter :

Gardiner would have my head. They are not

sweet.
The violence and the craft that do divide
The world of nature ; what is weak must lie ;
The lion needs but roar to guard his young ;
The lapwing lies, says " here" when they are there.
Threaten the child ; ** I'll scourge you if you did it."
What weapon hath the child, save his soft tongue,
To say ** I did not ?" and my rodV the block.
I never lay my head upon the pillow
But that I think, *' Wilt thou lie there to-morrow ?"
How oft the falling axe, that never fell,
Hath shock'd me back into the daylight truth
That it may fall to-day ! Those damp, black, dead
Nights in the Tower ; dead — with the fear of death —
Too dead ev'n for a death-watch ! Toll of a bell.
Stroke of a clock, the scurrying of a rat
Affrighted me, and then delighted me.
For there was life — and there was life in death —
The little murder'd princes, in a pale light.
Rose hand in hand, and whisper'd, "come away,
The civil wars are gone for evermore :
Thou last of all the Tudors, come away.
With us is peace ! " The last 1 It was a dream ;
I must not dream, not wink, but watch. She has gone,
Maid Marian to her Robin — by-and-by

122

i!ti 1 1
1
1

Queen Mary.

[act in

Both happy ! a fox may filch a hen by nighty

And make a morning outcry in the yard ;

But the»*e's no Renard here to ** catch her tripping."

Catch uie who can ; yet, sometimes I have wish'd

That I were caught, and killed away at once

Out of the flutter. The gray rogue, Gardiner,

Went on his knees, and pray'd me to confess

In Wyatt's business, and to cast myself

Upon the good Queen's mercy ; ay, when my Lord ?

God save ttie Queen. My jailor —

Enter Sir Hexbt Bedinofibld.

Bedingfield.

One, whose bolts,
That jail you from frcj life, bar you from death.
There haunt some Papist ruffians hereabout
Would murder you.

Elizabeth.

I thank yon heartily, sir.
But I am royal, tho' your prisoner,
And God hath blest or cursed me with a nose —
Your boots are from the horses.

Bedingfieid.

Ay, my Lady.
When next there comes a missive from the Queen
It shall be all m^ study for one hour
To rose and lavender my horsiness,
Before I dare to glance upon your Grace.

Elizabeth.

A missive from the Queen : last time she wrote,
I had like to have lost my life : it takes my breath :
O God, sir, do you J^ok upon your boots,
Are you so small a man ? Help me : what think you,
Is it life or death ?

f : 1 --!i

SCENE v.]

Queen Mary.
Bedinofield.

123

I thought not on my boots ;
The devil take all boots were ever made
Since man went barefoot. See, T lay it here,
For I will come no nearer to your Grace ;

[Laying down the letter.
And, whether it bring you bitter news or sweet,
And God have given your Grace a nose, o^ not,
I'll help you, if I may.

Elizabeth.

Your pardon, then ;
It is the heat and narrowness of the cage
That makes the captive testy ; with free wing
The world were all one Araby. Leave me now.
Will you, companion to myself, sir ?

Bedingfield.

Will I?
With roost exceeding willingness, I will ;
You know I never come till I be called.

Elizabeth.

[Exit

It lies there folded : is there venom in it ?
A snake — and if I touch it, it may sting.
Come, come, the worst !
Best wisdom is to know the worst at once.

[Reads :
** It is the King's wish, that you should wed Prince
Philibert of Savoy. You are to come to Court on the instant ;
and think of this in your coming.

"Mary the Queen."

Think ! I have many thoughts ;

I think there may be birdlime here for me ;

I think they fain would have me from the realm ;

I think the Queen may never bear a child ;

I think that I may be some tiino the Queen,

Then, Queen indeed : no forei;^. prince or priest

. I

124

Queen Mary.

[act III.

Should fill my throne, myself upon the steps.

I think I will not marry anyone,

Specially not this landless Philibert

Of Savoy ; but, if Philip menace me,

I think that I will play with Philibert — " '

As once the holy father did with mine.

Before my father married my good mother —

For fear of Spain.

Enter Lady.

Lady.

0 Lord ! your Grace, your Grace
I feel so happy : it seems that we shall fly
These bald, blank fields, and dance into the sun
That shines on princes,

Elizabeth.

Yet, a moment since,
I wish'd myself the milkmaid singing here.
To kiss and cuff among the birds and flowers —
A right rough life and healthful.

Lady.

But the wench
Hath her own troubles ; she is weeping now ;
For the wrong Robin took her at her word .
Then the cow kicked, and all her milk was spUt.
Your Highness such a milkmaid ?

Elizabeth.

My Robins and my cows in sweeter order
Had I been such.

I had kept

L4DY (slyly).

And had your Grace ja Robin.,

SCENE VI.]

Queen Mary.
Elizabbth.

125

Oome, come, you are chill iie^ ; yon want the sun
That shines at court ; make ready for the journey.
Pray God, we 'scape the sunstroke. Ready at once.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.— LONDON. A ROOM IN THE PALACE.
Lord Petbe and Lo&d William Howahd.

Petbjs.

Ton cannot see the Queen. Ren^rd denied her.
Ev'n now to me.

Howard.

Their Flemish go-between
And all in-all. I came to thank her Majesty
For freeing my friend Bagenhall from the Tower ;
A grace to me ! Mercy, that herb-of -grace,
Flowers now but seldom.

Petbe.

Only now perhaps,
Because the Queen hath been three days in tears
For Philip's going — like the wild hedge-rose
Of a soft winter, possible, not probable.
However, you have proven it.

HOWAJID.

I must see her.

Enter Rinabd.

Rekabd.

My Lords, you cannot see her Majesty.

P^ ■:<!

•1

I }

1 3

126

Queen Mary.
Howard.

[act III.

Why then the King ! for I would have him bring it
Home to the leisure wisdom of his Queen,
Before he go, that since these statutes past,
Gardiner out-Gardiners Gardiner in his heat,
Bonner cannot out-Bonner his own self —
Beast ! — but they play with fire as children do,
And bum the house. I know that these are breeding
A fierce resolve and fixt heart-hate in men
Against the King, the Queen, the Holy Father,
The faith itself. Can I not see him ?

Benabd.

Not now.
And in all this, my Lord, her Majesty
Is flint of flint, you may strike fire from her,
Not hope to melt her. I will give your message.

{Exeimt Petrb and Howard.

Enter Philip {musing).

Philip.

She will not have Prince PhUibert of Savoy,

I talked with her in vain — says she will live

And die true maid — a goodly creature too.

Would she had been the Queen ! yet she must have him ;

She troubles England : that she breathes in England

Is life and lungs to every rebel birth

That passes out of embryo.

Simon Benard ! —
This Howard, whom they fear, what was he sa3riiig ?

Renard.

What your imperial father said, my liege.
To deal with heresy gentlier. Gardiner bums,
And Bonner bums ; and it would seem this people
Care more for our brief life in their wet land,
Than yours in happier Spain. I told my Lord

SCENE VI.]

Queen Mary.

127

He should not vex her Highness ; she would say
These are the means God works with, that His church
May flourish.

Philip.

Ay, sir, but in statesmanship
To strike too soon is oft to miss the blow.
Thou knowest I bad my chaplain, Castro, preach
Against these burnings.

Benard.

And the Emperor
Approved you, and when last he wrote, declared
His comfort in your Grace that you were bland
And affable to men of all estates.
In hope to charm them from their hate of Spain.

Philip.

In hope to crush all heresy under Spain.

But, Benard, I am sicker staying here

Than any sea could make me passing hence,

Tho^ I be ever deadly sick at sea.

So sick am I with biding fqr this child.

Is it the fashion in this clime for women

To go twelve months in bearing of a child ?

The nurses yawn'd, the cradle gaped, they led -

Processions, chanted litanies, cla^'d their bells,

Shot off their lying cannon, and her priests

Have preach'd, the fools, of this fair prince to come.

Till, by St. James, I find myself the fool.

Why do you lift your eyebrow at me thus ?

Rexaud.
I never saw your Highness moved till now.

Philip.

So, weary am I of this v/et land of theirs.
And every sonl of man that breathes therein.

12S

Queen Mary.

E.ENABD.

[act III.

My liege, we must not drop the mask before
The masquerade is over —

Philip.

— Have I dropt it ?
I have but shown a loathing face to you,
Who knew it from the first.

Enter Mary.

Mary {Aside),

WithRenard. Still
Parleying with Benard, all the day with Renard,
And scarce a greeting aH the day for me —
And goes to-morrow. [Exit Mary.

Philip {to Renard, who advances to him).

Well, sir, is there more ?

Renard {who has perceived the Qubbn^.
May Simon Renard speak a single word ?

Philip.
Ay. •

Renard.
And be forgiven for it ?

Philip.

Simon Renard
Knows me too well to speak a single word
That could not be forgiven.

SCENE VI.]

Queen Mary.

129

Benabd.

Well, my liege,
Your Grace hath a most chaste and loving wife.

Phiup.
Why not ? The Queen of Philip should be chaste.

Benabd.

Ay, but, my Lord, you know what Virgil sings,
Woman is various and most mutable.

Philip.
She play the harlot ! never.

Rbnabd.

No, sire, no,
Not dream'd of by the rabidest gospeller.
There was a paper thrown into the palace,
" The King hath wearied of his barren bride."
She came upon it, read it, and then rent it,
With all the rage of one who hates a truth
He cannot but allow. Sire I would have you —
What should I say, I cannot pick my words —
Be somewhat less — ^majestic to your Queen.

Philip.

Am I to change my manners, Simon Benard,
Because these islanders are brutal beasts ?
Or would you have me turn a sonneteer.
And warble those brief -sighted eyes of hers ?

Benabd.

Brief -sighted tho' they be, I have seen them, sire,
When you perchance were trifling royally
With some fair dame of court, suddenly fill
With such fierce fire — had it been fire indeed
It would have burnt both speakers.
I

i
II

■t

m:>

130 Qiieen Mary.

Philip.

Ay, and then ?

Rknard.

Sire, might it not be policy in some matter
Of small importance now and then to cede
A point to her demand 1

Philip.

Well, I am going.

Rexard.

For should her love when you are gone, my liege,
Witness these papers, there will not be wanting
Those that will urge her injury — should her love —
And I have known such women more than one —
Veer to the counterpoint, and jealousy
Hath in it an alchemic force to fuse
. Almost into one metal love and hate, —
And she impress her wrongs upon her Council,
And these again upon her Parliament —
We are not loved here, and would be then perhaps
Not so well holpen in our wars with France,
As else we might be — ^here she comes.

Enter Mary.
Mary.

[act III.

Nay, must you go indeed ?

• Philip.

Mary.

OPhiUp!

Madam, I must.

The parting of a husband and a wife
Is like the cleaving of a heart ; one half
Will flutter here, one there.

soByB VI.] Queen Mary.

Philip.

You say true, Madam.

Mary.

The Holy Virgin will not have me yet

Lose the sweet hope that I may bear a prince.

If such a prince were bom and you not here !

Philip.
I should be here if such a prince were bom.

131

But must you go ?

Mary.

Philip.

Madam, you know my father,
Retiring into cloistral solitude
To yield the remnant of his years to heaven,
WiU shift the yoke and weight of all the world
From off his neck to mine. We meet at Brussels.
But since mine absence will not be for long,
Your Majesty shall go to Dover with me,
And wait my coining back.

Mary.

To Dover ? no.

I am too feeble. I will go to Greenwich,
So you will have me with you ; and there watch
All that is gracious in the breath of heaven
Draw with your sails from our poor land, and pass
And leave me, Philip, with my prayers for you.

Philip.
And doubtless I shall profit by your prayers.

132

Queen Mary.
Mary.

Methinks that would you tarry one day more
(The news was sudden) I could mould myself
To bear your going better ; will you do it ?

Philip.
Madam, a day may sink or save a realm.

Mart.
A day may save a heart from breaking too.

Philip.
Well, Simon Renard, shall we stop a day ?

Benabd.

Your Grace's business will not suffer, sire.
For one day more, so far as I can tell.

Philip.
Then one day more to please her Majesty.

Mary.

The sunshine sweeps across my life again,

0 if I knew you felt this parting, Philip,
As I do !

Philip.

By St. James I do protest,
Upon the faith and honour of a Spaniard,

1 am vastly grieved to leave your Majesty.
Simon, is supper ready ?

I saw the covers laying.

Renard.

Ay, my liege,

[act III.

Philip.

Let us have it. [Exeunt.

Queen Mary.

133

ACT IV.

SCENE I.— A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

Maby, Cardinal Polb.

Mary.

What have you there ? . *

'■ Pole.

So please your Majesty,
A long petition from the foreign exiles
To spare the life of Cranmler. Bishop Thirlby,
And my Lord Paget and Lord William Howard,
Crave, in the same cause, hearing of your Grace.
Hath he not written himself — infatuated —
To sue you for his life ?

Mary,

His life ? Oh no ;
Not sued for that — he knows it were in vain.
But so much of the anti-papal leaven
Works in him yet, he hath pray'd me not to sully
Mine own prerogative, and degrade the realm
By seeking justice at a stranger's hand
Against my natural subject. King and Queen,
To whom he owes his loyalty after God,
Shall these accuse him to a foreign prince ?
Death would not grieve him more. I cannot h«
True to this realm of England and the Pope
Together, says the heretic.

134

f . a

Queen Mary.

Pole.

[act rv

And there errs ;
As he hath ever err*d thro' vanity.
A secular kingdom is but as the body
Lacking a soul ; and in itself a beast.
The Holy Father in a secular kingdom
Is as the soul descending out of heaven
Into a body generate.

Mary.

Write to him, then.

I will.

Pole.

Mary.

And sharply, Pole.

Pole.

Here come the Cranmerites !

Enter Thirlby, Lord Paget, Lord William Howard.

Howard.

Health to your Grace. Good morrow, my Lord Cardinal ;

We make our humble prayer unto your Grace

That Cranmer may withdraw to foreign parts,

Or into private life within the realm.

In several bills and declarations, Madam,

He hath recanted all his heresies.

Paget.
Ay, ay ; if Bonner have not forged the bills.

Mary.

Did not More die, and Fisher ? he must bum.

[Aside.

I t-^.

SCENE I.]

Queen Mary.

135

■ ^ii i

Howard.
He hath recanted, Madam.

Mary.

The better for him.
He bums in Purgatory, not in Hell.

Howard.

Ay, ay, your Grace ; but it was never seen

That any one recanting thus at full,

As Cranmer hath, came to the fire on earth.

Mary.
It will be seen now, then.

Thirlby.

O Madam, Madam !
I thus implore you, low upon my knees,
To reach the hand of mercy to my friend.
I have err*d with him ; with him I have recanted.
What human reason is there why my friend
Should meet with lesser mercy than myself ?

Mary.

My Lord of Ely, this. After a riot

We hang the leaders, let their following go.

Cranmer is head and father of these heresies,

New learning as they call it ; yea, may God

Forget me at most need when I forget

Her foul divorce — my sainted mother — No ! —

Howard.

Ay, ay, but mighty doctors doubted there.
Tne Pope himself wavered ; and more than one
Row'd in that galley — Gardiner to wit.
Whom truly I deny not to have been

{11

■j

136

QueeTi Mary.

[act IV

Your faithful friend and trusty councillor.
Hath not your Highness ever read his book,
His tractate upon True Obedience,
Writ by himself and Bonner ?

Mary.

I will take
Such order with all bad, heretical books
That none shall hold them in his house and live,
Henceforward. No, my Lord.

Howard.

Then never read it.
The truth is here. Your father was a man «
Of such colossal kinghood, yet so courteous.
Except when wroth, you scarce could meet his eye
And hold your own ; and were he wroth indeed,
You held it less, or not at all. I say,
Your father had a will that beat men down ;
Your father had a brain that beat men down —

Not me, my Lord.

Pole.

Howard.

No, for you were not here ;
You sit upon this fallen Cranmers throne ;
And it would more become you, my Lord Legate,
To join a voice, so potent with her Highness,
To ours in plea for Oranmer than to stand,
On naked self-assertion.

Mary.

All your voices
Are waves on flint. The heretic must bum.

SCENE I.]

Queen Mary.
Howard.

137

Yet once he saved your Majesty*s own life ;
Stood out against the King in your behalf,
At his own peril.

Maby.

I know not if he did ;
And if he did T care not, my Lord Howard.
My life is not so happy, no such boon.
That I should spare to take a heretic priest's.
Who saved it or not saved. Why do you vex me ?

Paget.

Yet to save Cranmer were to serve the Church,
Your Majesty's I mean ; he is effaced.
Self-blotted out ; so wounded in his honour,
He can but creep down into some dark hole
Like a hurt beast, and hide himself and die ;
But if you bum him, — well, your Highness knows
The saying, "Martyr's blood — seed of the Church."

Maby.

Of the true Church ; but his is none, nor will be.
You are too politic for me, my Lord Paget?
And if he have to live so loatii'd a life.
It were more merciful to bum him now.

fe'f 'I

Thirlby.

0 yet relent. O, Madam, if you knew him
As I do, ever gentle, and so gracious,
With ail his learning —

Maby.

Yet a heretic still.
His learning makes his burning the more just.

138

Queen Mary.
Thirlby.

[act IV.

So worshipt of all those that came across him ;
The stranger at his hearth, and all his house —

Maky.
His children and his concubine, belike.

Thirlby. .

To do him any wrong was to beget "

A kindness from him, for his heart was rich,
Of such fine mould, that if you sow'd therein
The seed of Hate, it blossom'd Charity.

POLB.

** After his kind it costs him nothing," there's
An old world English adage t the point.
These are but natural graces, my good Bishop,
Which in the Catholic garden are as flowers,
But on the heretic dunghill only weeds.

HoWARi^.

Such weeds make dunghills gracious.

Mary.

Enough, my Lords.
It is God's will, the Holy Father's will,
And Philip's will, and mine, that he should bum.
He is pronounced anathema.

Howard.

- Farewell, Madam,
God grant you ampler mercy at your call
Than you have shown to Cranmer. [Exeunt Lords.

SCENE I.]

Queen Mary.
Pole.

139

After this,
Your Grace will hardly care to overlook
This same petition of the foreign exiles
For Cranmer's life.

Mabt.

Make out the writ to-night.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.— OXFORD. CRANMER IN PRISON.

Cbanmeb.

Last night, I dream'd the faggots were alight,
And that myself was faaten'd to the stake,
And found it all a visionaiy flame,
Cool as the light in old decaying wood ;
And then King Harry look'd from out a cloud.
And bad me have good courage ; and I heard
An angel cry, " there is more joy in Heaven," —
And after that, the trumpet of the dead.

[trumpets without.
Why, there are trumpets blowing now : what is it ?

Enter Father Cole.

Cole.

Cranmer, I come to question you again ;
Have you remained in the true Catholic Faith
I left you in ?

Cranmer.

In the true Catholic Faith,
By Heaven's grace, I am more and more confirm'd.
Why are the trumpets blowing, Father Cole ?

140

Queen Mary.

[act IV.

Cole.

Cranmer, it is decided by the Council
That you to-day should read your recantation
Before the people in Saint Mary's Church.
And there be many heretics in the town,
Who loathe you for your late return to Rome,
And might assail you passing through the street,
And tear you piecemeal : so you have a guard.

Cranmer.
Or seek to rescue me. I thank the Council.

Cole.
Do you lack any money ?

Cbanmbb.

Nay, why should I ?
The prison fare is good anough for me.

Cole.
Ay, but to give the poor.

Cranmeb.

Hand it me, then !

I thank you.

Cole.

For a little space, farewell ;
Until I see you in St. Mary's Church.

Cranmeb.

[Exit Cole.

It is against all precedent to bum
One who recants ; they mean to pardon me.
To give the poor — they give the poor who die.
Well, bum me or not bum me I am fixt ;
It is but a communion, not a mass :

8CBNE II.]

Queen Mary.

141

A holy supper, not a sacrifice ;

No man can make his maker — Villa Garcia.

Enter Villa Garcia.

Villa Garcia.
Pray you vnrite out this paper for me, Cranmer.

Cranmer.
Have I not vrrit enough to satisfy you ?

ViLLi Garcia.

It is the last.

Cranmer.
Give it me, then.

Villa Garcia.

[He writes.

Now sign.

Cranmer.
I have signed enough, and I will sign no more.

Villa Garcia.

It is no more than what you have sign'd already,
The public form thereof.

Cranmer.

It may be so ;
I sign it with my presence, if I read it.

Villa Garcia.

But- this is idle of you. Well, sir, well.
You are to beg the people to pray for you ;
Exhort them to a pure and virtuous life ;

142

Qu^en Mary.

[act IV.

Declare the Queen's right to the throne ; confess
Your faith before all hearers ; and retract
That Eucharistic doctrine in your book.
Will yoii not sign it now ?

, Cbanmeb.

No, Villa Garcia,
I sign no more. Will they have mercy on me ?

Villa Garcia.
Have you good hopes of mercy ? So, farewell. [Exit.

Granmeb.

Good hopes, not theirs, have I that I am fixt,

Fixt beyond fall ; however, in strange hours.

After the long brain-dazing colloquies.

And thousand- cimes recurring argument

Of those two friars ever in my prison.

When left alone in my despondency,

Without a friend, a book, my faith would seem

Dead or half-drown'd, or else swam heavily

Against the huge corruptions of the Church,

Monsters of mistradition, old enough ^

To scare me into dreaming, '' what am I,

Cranmer, against whole ages ? '* was it so.

Or am I slandering my most inward friend,

To veil the fault of my most outward foe —

The soft and tremulous coward in the flesh ?

0 higher, holier, earUer, purer church,

1 have found thee and not leave thee any more.
It is but a communion, not a mass —

No sacrifice, but a life-giving feast !

{Writes.) So, so ; this will I say — thus will I pray.

[Puts v/p the paper.

r Enter Boniter.

Bonner.

Good day, old friend ; what, you look somewhat worn ;
And yet it is a day to test your health

SCENE II.]

Queen Mary.

143

Ev'n at the best : I scarce have spoken with you
Since when ? — your degradation. At your trial
Never stood up a bolder man than you ;
You would not cap the Pope's commissioner —
Your learning, and your stoutness, and your heresy,
Dumbfounded half of us. So, after that.
We had to dis-archbishop and unlord.
And make you simple Cranmer once again.
The common barber clipt your hair, and 1
Scraped from your finger-points the holy oil ;
And worse than all, you had to kneel to me:
Which was not pleasant for you, Master Cranmer.
Now you, that would not recognise the Pope,
And you, that would not own the Real Presence,
.Have found a real presence in the stake,
Which frights you back into the ancient faith ;
And so have recanted to the Pope.
How are the mighty fallen. Master Cranmer !

Cranmer.

You have been more fierce againat the Pope than I ;
But why fling back the stone he strikes me with 1 [Aside.

0 Bonner, if I ever did you kindness —

Power hath been given you to try faith by fire —
Pray you, remembering how yourself have changed.
Be somewhat pitiful, after I have gone.
To the poor flock — to women and to children —
Then when I was archbishop held with me.

Bonner.

Aj — gentle ap they call you — live or die !
Pitiful to this pitiful heresy ?

1 must obey the Queen and Council, man.
Win thro' this day with honour to yourself,
And I'll say something for you — so — good-bye.

Cranmer.

[Exit

This hard coarse man of old hath crouched to me
Till I myself was half ashamed for him.

i'r

144 Queen Mary.

Enter Thirlby.
' Weep not, good Thirlby.

Thirlbt.

[act IV.

Oh, my Lord, my Lord !

My heart is no such block as Bonner's is :

my t

Who

would not weep 1

Who am disgraced ?

By your recanting.

Cranmeb.

Why do you so my-lord me,

Thirlbt.
On earth ; b;it saved in heaven

Crakmfr.
Will they bum me, Thirlby ?

Thirlby.

Alas, they will, these burnings will not help
The purpose of the faith ; but my poor voice
Against them is a whisper to the roar
Of a spring-tide.

Cranmer.
And they will surely bum me ?

Thirlby.

Ay ; and besides, will have you in the church
Repeat your recantation in the ears
Of all men, to the saving of their souls.
Before your execution. May God help you
Thro' that hard hour.

SCENE II.]

Queen Mary.
Cranmer.

1^145

And may God bless you, Thirlby.
Well, they shall hear my recantation there.

[Exit Thirlby.
Disgraced, dishonour'd ! — not by them, indeed, ,

By mine own self — by mine own hand !

0 thin-skinn'd hand and jutting veins, 'twas you
That sign'd the burning of poor Joan of Kent ;
But then she was a witch. You have written much.
But you were never raised to plead for Frith,
Whose dogmas I have roach'd ; he was deliver'd

To the secular arm to bum ; and there was Lambert ;
Who can foresee himself ? truly these burnings.
As Thirlby says, are profitless to the burners.
And help the other side. You shall burn too,
Bum first when I am burnt.
Fire — inch by inch to die in agony ! Latimer,
Had a brief end — not Ridley. Hooper I urn'd
Three-quarters of an hour. Will my faggots
Be wet as his were ? It is a day of rain.

1 will not muse upon it.

My fancy takes the burner's part and makes
The fire seem even crueller than it is.
No, I not doubt that God will give me strength,
Albeit I have denied him.

Enter Soto and Villa Garcia.

Villa Garcia.

We are ready
To take you to St. Mary's, Master Cranmer.

Cranmer.

And I : lead on ; ye loose me from my bonds.

[Exetmt.

yi'S.

146

Queen Mary.

[act IV.

SCENE III.— ST. MARY'S CHURCH.

Cole in the Pul^itf Lobd Williams of Thame juresidmg.

^ Lord William Howard, Lord Paget, and others. Cran-
MER enters between Soto and Villa Garcia, and the whole
Choir strike wp " Nunc Dimittis." |Crai7MER is set wpon a
Scaffold before the people.

Cole.
Behold him — [A pause ; people inlthe foreground.

People.
Oh, unhappy sight !

First Protestant.
See how tho tears run down his fatherly face.

Sbcoitd Protestant.

James, didst thou ever see a carrion crow
Stand watching a sick beast before he dies ?

First Protestant,

Him perch*d ar, there ? I wish some thunderbolt
Would make thii Cole f*. cinder, pulpit and all.

Cole.

Behold him brethren : he hath cause to weep ! —
So have we all : weep with him if ye will,

Yet

It is expedient for one man to die,
Yea, for the paople, lest the people die.
Yet wherefore should he die that hath returned
To the one Catholic Universal Church,
Repentant of his errors ?

Protestant murmurs.

Ay, tell us that.

SCENE III.] Queen Mary.

147

COLJJ.

Those of the wrong side will despise the man,
Deeming him one that thro' the fear of death
Gave up his cause, except he seal his faith
In sight of all with flaming martyrdom.

Ckanmer.

Ay.

•

Cole.

^ ■

Ye hear him, and albeit there may seem

According to the canons pardon due

To him that so repents, yet are there causes

Wherefore our Queen and Council at this time

Adjudge him to the death. He hath been a traitor,

A shaker and confounder of the realm ;

And when the King's divorce was sued at Rome,

He here, this heretic metropolitan.

As if he had been the Holy Father, sat

And judged it. Did I call him heretic ?

A huge heresiarch ! never was it known

That any man so writing, preaching so.

So poisoning the Church, so long continuing.

Hath found his pardon ; therefore he must die,

For warning and example.

Other reasons
There be for this man's ending, which our Queen
And Council at this present deem it not
Expedient to be known.

Protestant murmurs.

I warrant you.

Cole.

Take therefore, all, example by this man.
For if our Holy Queen not pardon him,
Much less shall others in like cause escape.
That all of you, the highest us the lowest,

148

Queen Mary.

[act IV

May learn there is no power against the Lord.
There stands a man, once of so high degree,
Chief prelate of our Church, archbishop, first
In Council, second person in the realm,
Friend for so long time of a mighty King ;
And now ye see downfallen and debased
From councillor to caitiflf — fallen so low.
The leprous flutterings of the byway, scum
And offal of the city would not change
Estates with him ; in brief, so miserable,
There is no hope of better left for him,
No place for worse.

Yet, Cranmer be thou glad.
This is the work of God. He is glorified
In thy conversion : lo ! thou art reclaimed ;
He brings thee home ; nor fear but that to-day
Thou shalt receive the penitent thief's award.
And be with Christ the Lord in Paradise.
Remember how God made the fierce fire seem
To those three children like a pleasant dew.
Remember, too.

The triumph of St. Andrew on his cross,
The patience of St. Lawrence in the fire.
Thus, if thou call on God and all the saints,
God will beat down the fury of the flame,
Or give thee saintly strength to undergo.
And for thy soul shall masses here be sung
By every priest in Oxford. Pray for him.

Cranmer.

Ay, one and all, dear brothers, pray for me ;
Pray with one breath, one heart, one soul for me

Cole.

And now, lest anyone among you doubt

The man's conversion and remorse of heart,

Yourselves shall hear him speak. Speak, Master Cranmer,

Fulfil your promise made me, and proclaim

Your true undoubted faith, that all may hear.

SCENE III.]

Queen Mary,

Cranmer.

149

And that I will. O God, Father of Heaven !
O Son of Grod, Redeemer of the world !

0 Holy Ghost ! proceeding from them both,
Three persons and one God, have mercy on me.
Most miserable sinner, wretched man.

1 have offended against heaven and earth
More grievously than any tongue can tell.
Then whither should I flee for any help ?
I am ashamed to lift my eyes to heaven,
And I can find no refuge upon earth.

Shall I despair then ? — God forbid ! O God,

For Thou art merciful, refusing none

That come to Thee for succour, unto Thee,

Therefore, I come ; humble myself to Thee ;

Sajring, O Lord God, although my sins be great.

For Thy great mercy have mercy ! O God the Son,

Not for slight faults alone, when Thou becamest

Man in the Flesh, was the great mystery wrought ;

Oh God the Father, not for little sins

Didst Thou yield up Thy Son to human death ;

But for the greatest sin that can be sinn'd,

Yea, even such as mine, incalculable.

Unpardonable, — sin against the light.

The truth of God, which 1 had proven and known.

Thy mercy must be greater than all sin.

Forgive me. Father, for no merit of mine.

But that Thy name by man be glorified,

And Thy most blessed Son's, who died for man.

Good people, every man at time of death
Would fain set forth some saying that may live
After his death and better humankind ;
For death gives life's last word a power to live.
And, like the stone-cut epitaph, remain
After the vanish'd voice, and speak to men.
God grant me grace to glorify my God !
And first I say it is a grievous case.
Many so dote upon this bubble world.
Whose colours in a moment break and fly,
They care for nothing else. What saith St. John :—
*' Love of this world is hatred against God."

itv

111

150

Queen Mary.

[act IV.

11 I

I :

Again, I pray you all that, next to God,
You do unmurmuringly and willingly
Obey your King and Queen, and not for dread
Of these alone, but from the fear of Him
Whose ministers they be to govern you.
Thirdly, I pray you all to love together
Like brethren ; yet what hatred Christian men
Bed.r to each other, seeming not as brethren,
But mortal foes ! But do jrou good to all
As much as in you lieth. Hurt no man more
Than you would harm yc!:r loving natural brc"^
Of the same roof, same breast. If any do.
Albeit he think himself at home with God,
Of this be sure, he is whole worlds away.

Protestant murmurs.

What sort of brothers then be those that lust
To bum each other ?

Williams.
Peace among you, there.

her

Cranmeb.

Fourthly, to those that own exceeding wealth.
Remember that sore saying spoken once
By Hiin that was the truth, ** how hard it is
For the rich man to enter into Heaven ;"
Let all rich men remember that hard word.
I have not time for more : if ever, now
Let them flow forth in charity, seeing now
The poor so many, and all food so dear.
Long have I lain in prison, yet have heard
Of all their wretchedness. Give to the poor,
Ye give to God. He is with us in the poor.
And now, and forasmuch as I have come
To the last end of life, and thereupon
. Hangs all my past, and all my life to be,
Bither to live with Christ in Heaven with joy.
Or to be still in pain with devils in hell ;

SCENE III.]

Queen Mary.

151

And, seeing, in a moment, I shall find [PointiTig upwards.
Heaven or else hell ready to swallow me,

[Pointing downwards.
I shall declare to you my very faith
Without all colour.

Cole.
Hear him, my good brethren.

Obanmeb.

I do believe in God ; Father of all ;
In every article of the Catholic fa'"^h.
And every syllable taught us by our Lord,
His prophets, and apostles in the Testaments,
Both Old and New.

Cole.
Be plainer. Master Cranmei .

Cbanmeb.

And now I come to the great ^ause that weighs
Upon my conscience more than anjrthing
Or said or done in all my life by me ;
For there be writings I ha^e set abroad
Against the truth I knew within my heart,
Written for fear of death, to save my life,
If that might be ; the papers by my hand
Sign'd since my degradation — by this hand

[Holding out his right hand.
Written and sign'd — I here renounce the all ;
And, since my hand offended, having written
Against my heart, my hand shall first be burnt.
So I may come to the fire. [Dvad silence.

Proti^tant imirmurs.

First Protestant.
I knew it would be so,

.52

■i

Li '^

God bless him !

Queen Mary. [act iv.

Second Protestant.

Our prayers are heard.

Third Protestant.
Catholic murmurs.

Out upon him ! out upon him !
Liar ! dissembler ! traitor ! to the fire !

Williams (raising his voice.^

You know that you recanted all you said
Touching the sacrament in that same book
You wrote against my Lord of Winchester ;
Dissemble not ; play the plain Christian man.

Cranmer.

Alas, my Lord,

I have been a man loved plainness all my life ;

I did dissemble, but the hour has come

For utter truth and plainness ; wherefore, I say,

I hold by all I wrote within that book.

Moreover,

As for the Pope I count him Antichrist,

With all his devil's doctrines ; and refuse,

!^eject him, and abhor him. I have said.

[Oiies on all sides ^ " Pull him down ! Away with
him."

Cole.
Ay, stop the heretic's mouth. Hale him away.

Williams.

Barm him not, harm him not, have him to the fire.

[Cranmer goes out between Two Friars^ smiling ;
hands are reached to him from the crowd.
Lord William Howard and Lord Paget
are left alone in the church.

SCENE III.]

Queen Mary,

153

s are heard.

Paget.

The nave and aisles all empty as a fool's jest !

No, here's Lord William Howard. What, my Lord,

You have not gone to see the burning ?

HOWABD.

Fie!
To stand at ease, and stare as at a show,
And watch a good man bum. Never again.
I saw the deaths of Latimer and Ridley.
Moreover tho' a Catholic, I would not,
For the pure honour of our common nature,
Hear what I might — another recantation
Of Cranmer at the stake.

Paget.

Tou'd not hear that.
He pass'd out smiling and he walk'd upright ;
His eye was like a soldier'B, whomthe general
He looks to and leans on as his God,
Hath rated for some backwardness and bidd'n him
Charge one against a thousand, and the man
Hurls his soil'd life against the pikes and dies.

Howard.

Yet that he might not after all those papers
Of recantation yield again, who knows ?

Paget.

Papers of recantation, think you then
That Cranmer read all papers that he sign'd ?
Or sign'd all those they tell us that he sign'd
Nay, I trow not : and you shall see, my Lord,
That howsoever hero>like the man
Dies in the fire, this Bonner or another
Will in some lying fashion misreport
His ending to the glory of their church.

St: s

154

Queen Ma/ry.

[act IV

And you saw Latimer and Ridley die ?
Latimer was eighty, was he not ? his best
Of life was over then.

Howard. •

His eighty years
Looked somewhat crooked on lum in his frieze ;
But after they had stript him to his shroud,
He stood upright, a lad of twenty-one.
And gather d with his hands the starting flame,
And wash'd his hands and all his face therein.
Until the powder suddenly blew him dead.
Ridley was longer burning ; but he died
As manfully and boldly, and 'fore God,
I know them heretics, but right English ones.
If ever, as heaven grant, we clash with Spain,
Our Ridley -soldiers and our Latimer- sailors
Will teach her something.

Paget.

Your mild Legate Pole
Will tell you that the devil helpt them thro' it.

[A murmur of the Crowd in the distance.
Hark, how those Roman wolfdogs howl and bay him.

Howard.

Might it not be the other side rejoicing
In his brave end.

They can but weep

Paget.

Thev are too crushed, too broken,
in silence.

Howard.

Ay, ay, Paget,
They have brought it in large measure on themselves.
Have I not heard them mock the blessed Host
In songs so lewd, the beast might roar his claim

SCENE III.]

Queen Mary.

155

To being in God's image, more than they ?
Have I not seen the gamekeeper, the groom,
Gardener, and huntsman, in the parson's place,
The parson from his own spire swung out dsad,
And Ignorance crying in the streets, and all men
Regarding her ? I say they have drawn the fire
On their own heads : yet, Paget, I do hold
The Catholic, if he have the greater right,
Hath been the crueller.

Paget.

Action and reaction.
The miserable see-saw of our child- world.
Make us despise it at odd hours, my Lord.
Heaven help that this re-action not re-act,
Yet fiercelier under Queen Elizabeth,
So that she come to rule us.

W' ii

Howard.

The world's mad.

Paget,

My Lord, the world is like a drunken man,

Who cannot move straight to his end — ^but reels

Now to the right, then as far to the left,

Puwh'd by the crowd beside — and underfoot

An earthquake ; for since Henry for a doubt —

Wydch a young lust had clapt upon the back.

Crying ** Forward," — set our old church rocking, men

Have hardly known what to believe, or whether

They should believe in anything ; the currents

So shift and change, they see not how they are borne.

Nor whither. I conclude the King a beast ;

Verily a lion if you will — the world

A most obedient beast and fool — myself

Half beast and fool as appertaining to it ;

Altho' your Lordship hath as little of each

Cleaving to your original Adam-clay,

As may be consonant with mortality.

■M

156

Queen Ma/ry.

[act IV.

i I

HOWAKD.

We talk and Cranmer suffers.
The kindliest man I ever knew ; see, see,
I speak of him in the past. (Jnhappy land !
Hard-natured Queen, half Spanish in herself,
And grafted on the hard-grain'd stock of Spain —
Her life, since Philip left her, and she lost
Her fierce desire of bearing him a child.
Hath, like a brief and bitter winter's day,
Gone narrowing down and darkening to a close.
There will be more conspiracies, I fear.

Paget.
Ay, ay, beware of France.

Howard.

O Paget, Paget !
I have seen heretics of the poorer sort,
Expectant of the rack from day to day,
To whom the fire were welcome, lying chained
In breathless dungeons over steaming sewers,
Fed with rank brea^ that crawPd upon the tongue.
And putrid water, every drop a worm.
Until they died of rotted limbs ; and then
Oast on the dunghill naked, and become
Hideously alive again from head to heel.
Made even the carrion-nosing mongrel vomit
With hate and horror.

To hear you.

Paget.

Nay, you sicken me

Howard.

Fancy-sick ; these things are done,
Done right against the promise of this Queen
Twice given.

80ENE III.]

Queen Mary.
Paget.

157

No faith with heretics, my Lord !
Hist ! there be two old gossips — gospellers,
I take it ; stand behind the pillar here ;
I warrant you they talk about the burning.

Enter Two Old Women. Joan, and after her Tib.

Joan.
Why, it be Tib.

Tib.

I cum behind tha, gall, and couldn't make tha hear. Eh,
the wind and the wot ! What a day, what a day ! nigh upo*
judgement daay loike. Pwoaps be pretty things, Joan, but
they wunt set i' the Lords' cheer o' that daay.

Joan.

I must set down myself, Tib ; it be a var waay vor my Owld
legs up vro' Islip. Eh, my rheumatizy be that bad howiver
be I to win to the bumin*.

Tib.

I should saay 'twur ower by now. I*d ha' been here avore,
but Dumble wur blow'd wi' the wind, and Dumble's the best
milcher in Islip.

Joan.

Our Daisy's as good 'z her.

Tib.

Noa, Joan.

Joan.
Our Daisy's butter's as good'z hern.

. v:

158 Queen Mary. [act iv.

Tib.
Noa, Joan.

Joan.
Our Daisy's cheeses be better.

Tib.
Noa, Joan.

Joan.

Eh, then ha* thy waay wi' me, Tib ; ez thou hast wi* thy
owld man.

Tib.

Ay, Joan, and my owld man wur up and awaay betimes wi*
dree hard eggs for a good pleace at the burnin' ; and barrin*
the wet, Hodge 'ud ha* been a-harrowin* o' white peasen i' the
outfield — and barrin' the wind. Durable wur blow*d wi* the
wind, so *z we was forced to stick her, but we fetched her
round at last. Thank the Lord therevore. Dumble's the
beisi milcher in Islip.

Joan.

Thou*s thy way wi* man and beast, Tib. I wonder at tha*,
it beats me ! Eh, but I do know ez Pwoaps and vires be bad
things ; tell *ee now, I heerd summat as summun towld sum-
mun o* owld Bishop Gardiner's end ; there wur an owld lord
a-cum to dine wi* un, and a wur so owld a couldn*t bide vor
his dinner, but a had to bide howsomiver, vor ^' I wunt
dine," says my Lord Bishop, says he, '' not tiU I hears ez
Latimer and Ridley be a-vire ; ** and so they bided on and
on till vour o* the clock, till his man cum in post vro' here, and
tells un ez the vire has tuk holt, " Now,* says the bishop,
says he, *' we'll gwo to dinner ; ** and the owld lord fell to *s
meat wi' a will, God bless un ; but Gardiner wur struck down
like by the hand o* God avore a could taste a mossel, and a
set him all a-vire, so 'z the tongue on un cum a-loUuping out
o' *is mouth as black as a rat. Thank the Lord therevore.

a hast wi* thv

^or "I wunt

ord fell to 's

ilCENE III.]

The f ooh» !

Queen Mary.
Paget.

Tib.

159

Ay, Joan ; and Queen Mary gwoea on a-bumin' and a-
bumin', to git her baaby bom ; but all her bumins' 'ill never
bum out the hypocrisT that makes the water in her. There's
nouhgt but the vire ol God's hell ez can burn out that.

Joan.
Thank the Lord, therevore.

Paget.
The fools !

. Tib.

A-bumin' and a-burnin', and a-makin' o' volk madder and
madder ; but tek thou my word vor't, Joan, — and I bean't
wrong not twice i' ten year — the bumin' o' the owld arch-
bishop 'ill bum the Pwoap out o' this 'ere land for iver and
iver.

Howard.

Out of the church, you brace of cursed crones^

Or I will have you duck'd. (Women hurry out.) Said I

not right ?
For how should reverend prelate or throned prince
Brook for an hour such brute malignity I
Ah, what an acrid wine has Luther brew'd !

Paget.

Pooh, pooh, my Lord ! poor garrulous country-wives.
Buy you their cheeses, and they'll side with you ;
You cannot judge the liquor from the less.

Howard.
T think that in some sort we may. But see^

!|Vf

«)-• ■ I

f-*r-'

160

Queen Mary.

Enter Petebs.

[act IV.

Peters, my gentleman, an honest Catholic,
Who followed with the crowd to Cranmer's fire.
One that would neither misreport nor lie,
Not to gain paradise : no, nor if the Pope
Charged h^m to do it — he is white as death.
Peters, how pale you look ! you bring the smoke
Of Cranmer's burning with you.

Peters.

Twice or thrice
The smoke of Cranmer's burning wrapt me round.

Howard.

Peters, you know me Catholic, but English.
Did he die bravely ? Tell me that, or leave
All else untold.

Peters.
> My Lord, he died most bravely.

Howard.

Then tell me all.

Paget.
Ay, Master Peters, tell us.

Peters.

Tou saw him how he past amon^ the crowd ;

And ever as he walk'd the Spanish frairs

Still plied him with entreaty and reproach :

But Cranmer, as the helmsman at the helm

Steers, ever looking to the happy haven

Where he shall vest at night, moved to his death ;

And I could see that many silent hands

Came from the crowd and met his own ; and thus,

SOE

SCENE III.]

Queen Mary,

161

When we had come where Ridley burnt with Latimer,

He, with a cheerful smile, as one whose mind

Is all made up, in haste to put off the rags

They had mock'd his misery with, and sdl in white,

His long white beard, which he had never shaven

Since Henry's death, down-sweeping to the chain,

Wherewith they bound him to the stake, he stood,

More like an ancient father of the Church,

Than heretic of these times ; and still the friars

Plied him, but Cranmer only shook his head.

Or answer'd them in smiling negatives ;

Whereat Lord Williams gave a sudden cry : —

" Make short ! make short ! " and so they lit the wood. '

Then Cranmer lifted his left hand to heaven,

And thrust his right into the bitter flame ;

And crying, in his deep voice, more than once,

'* This hath offended — this unworthy hand ! "

So held it till it all was bum'd, before

The flame had reached his body ; I stood nea? —

Marked him — he never uttered moan of pain :

He never stirr'd or writhed, but like a statue,

Unmoving in the greatness of the flame.

Gave up the ghost ; and so past martyr-like —

Martyr I may not call him — past — but whither 1

Paget.
To purgatory, man, to purgatory.

Peters.
Nay, but, my Lord, he denied purgatory. ,

Paget.
Why then to heaven, and God ha' mercy on him.

Howard.

Paget, despite his fearful heresies,

I loved the man, and needs must moan for him

0 Cranmer !

Paget.

But your moan is useless now :
Oome out, my Lord, it is a world of fools. [Exeuni,

t I

' M

■..,»

162

Queen Mary.

[act v.

ACT V.

SCENE I. —LONDON. HALL IN THE PALACE.

Queen, Sir Nicholas Heath.

Heath.
Madam,

I do assure yeu, that it must be looked to :
Calais is but ill-garrison'd, in Guisnes
Are scarce two hundred men, and the French fleet
Rule in the narrow seas. It must be look'd to.
If war should fall between yourself and France ;
Or you will lose your Calais. '

Maby.

It shall be look'd to ;
I wish you a good morning, good Sir Nicholas :
Here is the King. [Exit Heath.

Enter Philip.

. Philip.

Sir Nicholas tells you true,
And you must look to Calais when I go.

Maby.

Go ! must you go, indeed — again — so soon ?
Why, nature's licensed vagabond, the swallow,
That might live always in the sun's warm heart.
Stays longer here in our poor north than you :—
Knows where he nested — ever comes again.

SCENE l] Queen Mary.

Philip.
And, Madam, so shall I.

Mabt.

O, will you ? will you 1
I am faint with fear that you will come no more.

Philip.
Ay, ay ; but many voices call me hence.

Maby.

Voices — I hear unhappy rumours — nav,
I say not, I believe. What voices call you
Dearer than mine that should be dearest to you ?
Alas, my Lord ! what voices and how many ?

Philip.

The voices of Castile and Ara^on,

Granada, Napl'^a, Sicily, and Milan, —

The voices of Franche-Comt6, and the Netherlands,

The voices of Peru and Mexico,

Tunis, and Gran, and the Philippines,

And all the fair spice-islands of the East.

Maby {admiringly).

You are the mightiest monarch upon earth,
I but a little Queen ; and so, indeed.
Need you the more ; and wherefore could you not
Helm the huge vessel of your state, my liege,
Here, by the side of her who loves you most 1

Philip.

No, Madam, no ! a candle in the sun

Is all but smoke — a star beside the moon

Is all but lost ; your people will not crown me —

Your people are as cheerless as your clime ;

163

•*^

,w*-

■'^

164

Qiieen Mary.

[act V,

Hate me and mine : witness the brawls, the gibbets.
Here swings a Spaniard— there an Englishman ;
The peoples are unlike as their complexion ;
Yet will I be your swallow and return —
But now I cannot bide.

Maey.

Not to help me ?
They hate me also for my love to you,
My Phihp ; and these judgments on the land —
Harvestless autumns, horrible agues, plague —

Philip.

The blood and sweat of heretics at the stake
Is God's best dew upon the barren field.
Burn more !

Mary.
I will, I will ; and you will stay.

Philip.

Have I not s&id 1 Madam, I came to sue
Your Council and yourself to declare war.

Mary.

Sir, there are many English in your ranks
To help your battle.

Philip.

So far, good. I say
I came to sue your Council and yourselr
To declare war against the King of France.

Maky.

Not to see me ?

SCENE I.]

Queen Mary.
Philip.

165

Ay, Madam, to see you.
Unalterably and pesteringly fond ! [Adde.

But, soon or late you must have war with France ;
King Henry warms your traitors at his hearth.
Oarew is there, and Thomas Stafford there.
Courtenay, belike —

Mary.
A fool and featherhead !

Philip.

Ay, but they use his name. In brief this Henry

Stirs up your land against you to the intent

That you may lose your English heritage.

And then, your Scottish namesake marrying

The Dauphin, he would weld France, England, Scotland,

Into one sword to hack at Spain and me.

Mary.

And yet the Pope is now colleagued with France ;
You make your wars upon him down in Italy, : —
Philip, can that be well ?

Philip.

Content you. Madam ;
You must abide my judgment, and my father's.
Who deems it a most just and holy war.
The Pope would cast the Spaniard out of Naples :
He calls us worse than Jews, Moors, Saracens.
The Pope has push'd his horns bevond his mii.^'e —
Beyond his province. Now,
Duke Alva will but touch him on the horns,
And he withdraws ; and of his holy head —
For Alva is true son of the tme church-
No hair is harm'd. Will you not help me here ?

i;l

166

Queen Mary.

[act v.

Mary.

Alas ! the Council will not hear of war.

They say your wars are not the wars of England.

They will not lay more taxes on a land

So hunger-nipt and wretched ; and you know

The crown is poor. We have given the church-lands back :

The nobles would not ; nay, they clapt their hands

Upon their swords when ask*d ; and therefore God

Is hard upon the people. What's to be done 1

Sir, I will move them in your cause again,

And we will raise us loans and subsidies

Amon^ the merchants ; and Sir Thomas Gresham

Will aid us. There is Antwerp and the Jews.

Madam, my thanks.

Philip.

Mary.

And you will stay your going ?

Philip.

And further to discourage and lay lame

The plots of France, altho' you love her not,

You must proclaim Elizabeth your heir.

She stands between you and the Queen of Scots.

Mary.
The Queon of Scots at least is Catholic.

Philip.

Ay, Madam, Catholic ; but I will not have
The King of France the King of England too.

■

Mary.

But she's a heretic, and, when T am gone,
Brings the new learning back.

nds back :

BORNE I.]

Queen Mary.
Philip.

167

It must be done,
Tou must proclaim Elizabeth your heir.

Mart.

Then it is done ; but you Tvill stay your going
Somewhat beyond your settled purpose ?

Philip.

IfART.

What, not one day ?

And I am broken there.

PniLiPr

Tou beat upon the rock.

Mart.
Philip.

No!

Is this a place
To wail in, Madam ? what ! a public hall.
Go in, I pray you.

BfART.

Do not seem so changed.
Say go ; but only say it lovingly.

-Philip.

You do mistake. I am not one to change.
I never loved you more.

Mary.

Sire, I obey you.
Oome quickly.

Philip.

Ay. [Exit Mary.

•*1

168 Queen Mary, [act v.

Enter Count de Fbbia.

Feria (aside), '

The Queen in tears.

Philip.

Feria !
Hast thou not mark'd— coyr^e closer to mine ear —
How doubly aged this Qut.«jn of ours hath grown
Since she lost nope of hearing us a child ?

Fbeia.

Sire, if your Grac>. ia .n'^rk'd it, so have I.

Philip.

Hast thou not likewise mark'd Elizabeth,
How fair and ivoyal — like a Queen, indeed ?

Fekia.

Allow me the same answer as before —

That if your Grace hath mark'd her, so have I.

Philip.

Good, now ; methinks my Queen is like enough
To leave me by and by .

Feria.

To leave you, sire ?

Philip.

I mean not like to live. Elizabeth —
To Philibei't of Savoy, as you know,
. We meant to wed her ; but I am not sure
She will not serve me better — so my Queen
Would leave me — as — my wife.

HCENB I.]

Queen Mary.

Feria.

Sire, even bo.

Philip.
She will not have Prince Philibert of Savoy.

Feria.
No, sire.

Philip.

I have to pray you, some odd time.
To sound the Princess carelessly on this ;
Not as from me, but as your fantasy ;
And tell me how she takes it.

169

Feria.

Philip.

Sire, I will.

I am not certain but that Philibert
Shall be the man ; and I shall urge his suit
Upon the Queen, because I am not certain :
Tou understand, Feria.

Feria.
Sire, I do.

Philip.

And if you be not secrot in this matter,
You understand me there, too ?

Feria.
Sire, I do.

i, ''^

170

Queen Mary.
Philip.

[act v.

Toil must be sweet and supple, like a FFenchman.
She is none of those who loathe the honeycomb.

[Exit Febia.

Enter Renabd.
Renard.
My liege, I bring you goodly tidings.

Philip.

Well

Renabd.

There vnU be war with France, at last, my liege ;
Sir Thomas Stafford, a bull-headed ass,
Sailing from France with thirty Englishmen,
Hath taken Scarboro' Castle, north of York ;
Proclaims himself protector, and affirms
The Queen has forfeited her right to reign
By marriage with an alien — other things
As idle ; a weak Wyatt ! Little doubt
This buzz will soon be silenced ! but the Council
(I have talked with some already^ are for war.
This is the fifth conspiracy hatched in France ;
They show their teeth upon it ; and your Grace,
So you will take advice of mine, should stay
Yet for awhile, -to shape and guide the event.

Philip.
Good ! Renard, I will stay then.

Renabd.

Also, sire.
Might I not say — to please your wife, the Queen f

Philip.
Ay, Renard, if you care to put it so.

[Eocewnt.

SCENE il] Queen Mary.

SCENE II. -A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

Mary and Carddtal Pole.
Ladt Clarence and Alice m the hackgrwvixd.

Mart.

Reginald Pole, what news hath plagued thv heart ?
What makes thy favour like the bloodless head
Fall'n on the block, and held up by the hair ?
PhiUp?—

171

As ever.

Pole.
No, Philip is as warm in life

Mary.

Ay, and then as cold as ever.
Is Calais taken ?

Pole.

Cousin, there hath chtoced
A sharoer harm to England and to Rome,
Than Calais taken. Julius the Third
Was ever just, and mild, and fatherlike ;
But this new Pope Caraffa, Paul the Fourth,
Not only reft me of that legateship
Which Julius gave me, and the legateship
Annexed to Canterbury — ^nay, but worse —
And yet I must obey the holy father,
And so must you, good cousin ; — worse than all,
A passing beU tollM in a dying ear —
He hath cited me to Rome, for heresy.
Before his Inquisition.

Mary.

I knew it, cousin.
But held from you all papers sent by Rome,
That you might rest among us, till the Pope,

172

Queen Mary.

[act V,

To compass which I wrote myself to Rome,
Reversed his doom, and that you might not seem
To disobey his Holiness.

POLB.

He hates Philip ;
He is all Italian, and he hates the Spaniard ;
He cannot dream that I advised the war ;
He strikes thro' me at Philip and yourself.
Nay, but I know it of old, he hates me too ;
So orands me in the stare of Christendom
A heretic !

Now, even now, when bow*d before my time,
The house half •'TuinM ere the lease be out ;
When I should guide the Church in peace at home.
After my twenty years of banishment,
And all my lifelong labour to uphold
The primacy — a heretic. Long ago,
When 1 was ruler in the patrimony,
I was too lenient to the Lutheran,
And I and learned friends among ourselves
Would freely canvass certain Lutheranisms.
What then, he knew I was no Lutheran.
A heretic !

He drew this shaft against me to the head.
When i^ was thought I might be chosen Pope,
But then withdrew it. In full consistory.
When I was made Archbishop, he approved me.
And how should he have sent me Legate hither,
Deeming me heristic ? and what heresy since ?
But he was evermore mine enemy.
And hates the Spaniard — fiery-choleric,
A drinker of black, strong, volcanic wines.
That ever make him fierier. I, a heretic ?
Tour Highnnss Kcnows that in pursuing heresy
I have gone beyond your late Lord Chancellor, —
He cried Enough ! enough ! before his death. —
Gone beyond him and mine own natural man
(It was God's cause) ; so far they call me now,
The scourge and butcher of their English church.

soKNB n.] Queen Mary, 173

Mabt.
Have courage, your reward is Heaven itself.

Pole.

They groan amen ; they swarm into the fire

Like flies — for what ? no dogma. They know nothing ;

They bum for nothing.

Mary.

You have done your best.

Pole.

Have done my beat, and as a faithful son,

That all day long hath wrought his father's work,

When back he comes at evening hath the door

Shut on him by the father whom he loved,

His early follies cast into his teeth.

And the poor son turned out into the street

To sleep, to die— I shall die of it, cousin.

Maby.

I prav you be not so disconsolate ;

I still will do mine utmost with the Pope.

Poor cousin.

Have I not been the* fast friend of your life

Since mine began, and it was thought we two

Might make one flesh, and cleave unto each other

As man and wife.

Pole.

Ah, cousin, I remember,
How I would dandle you upon my knee
At lisping age. I watch*d you dancing once
With your huj e father ; he look'd the Great Hairy,
You but his cot/cboat ; prettily you did it,
And innocently. No— we were not made
One flesh in happiness, no happiness here ;

f 1 5

■ I

174

Queen Mary.

[act

But now we are made one flesh in misery ;
Our bridesmaids are not lovely — Disappointment,
Ingratitude, Injustice, Evil-tongue,
Labour-in-vain.

Maby.

Surely, not all in vain.
Peace, cousin, peace ! I am sad at heart myself.

Pole.

Our altar is a mound, of dead men's day,
Dug from the grave that yawns for us beyond ;
And there is one Death stands behind the Groom,
And there is one Death stands behind the Bride —

Maby.
Have you been looking at the '^ Pance of Death 1"

Pole.

No ; but these libellous papers which I found

Strewn in your palace. Look you here — the Pope

Pointing at me with **^Pole, the heretic,

Thou hast burnt others, do thou bum thyself.

Or I will burn thee " and this other ; see ! —

** We pray continually for tho death

Of our accursed Queen and Cardinal Pole.''

This last— I dare not read it to her. [Aitidi

Maby.

Away !
Why do you bring me these ?
I thought you knew me better. I never read,
I tear them ; they come back upon my dreams.
Tlie hands that write them should be burnt clean off
As Cranmer's, and the fiends that utter them
Tongue-torn with pincers, lash'd to death, or lie
Famisliing in black cells, while famished rats
Eat them alive. Why do they bring me these ?
Do you mean to drive me mad ?

SOBlfE U.]

Queen Mary.
Pole.

175

I had forgotten
How these poor libels trouble you. Tour pardon,
Sweet cousin, and farewell ! *' O bubble world,
Whose colours in a moment break and fly ! '^
Why, who said that ? I know not — ^true enough !

[Puts up the papers, all but the lastf which falls.
Exit Pols.

Alice.

[Aside,

If Cranmer's spirit were a mocking one,

Aiirl heard these two, there might be sport for him.

Maby.

Clarence, they hate me ; even while I speak
There lurks a silent dagger, listening
In some dark closet, some long gallery, drawn,
And panting for my blood as I go by.

Lady Clabenoe.

Nay, Madam, there be loyal papers too.
And I have often found Uiem.

Maby.

Find me one !

Lady Clabenoe.

Ay, Madam ; but Sir Nicholas Heath, the Chancellor,
Would see your Highness.

Maby.
y/herefore should I see him ?

Lady Clarence.
Well, Madam, he may bring you news from Philip.

':'.'\

176

So, Clarence.

Queen Mary.
Mabt.

Ladt Clarenoje.

[act v.

Let me first put up your hair ;
It tumbles all abroad.

Mabt.

And the gray dawn
Of an old age that never will be mine
Is all the clearer seen. No, no ; what matters ?
Forlorn I am, and let me look forlorn.

Enter Sib Nicholas Heath.

Heath. ♦

I bring your Majesty such grievous news
I grieve to bring it. Madam, Calais is taken.

Maby.

What traitor spoke ? Here, let my cofisin Pole
Seize him and bum him for a Lutheran.

Heath.
Her Highness is imwell. I will retire.

Lady Clabence.
Madam, your Chancellor, Sir Nicholas Heath.

Maby.

Sir Nicholas ? I am stunn'd — Nicholas Heath ?
Mothought some traitor smote me on the hea i
What said you, my good Lord, that our bravo English
Had sallied out from Calais and driven back
The Frenchmen from their trenches ?

SCENE II.]

Queen Mary.
Heath.

177

Alas ! no.

-.%

That gateway to the mainland over which
Our flag hath floated for two hundred years
Is France again.

Mabt.

So ; but it is not lost —
Not yet. Send out, let England as of old
Rise lionlike, strike hard an ^ deep into
The prey they are rending from her — ay, and rend
The renders too. Send out, send out, and make
Musters in all the counties ; gather all
From sixteen years to sixty ; collect the fleet ;
Let every craft that carries sail and gun
Steer towards Calais. Guisnes is not taken yet ?

Heath.

Guisnes is not taken yet.

Mabi.
There yet is hope.

Heath.

Ah, Madam, but your people are so cold ;
I do much fear that England will not care.
Methiiiks there is no manhood left among us.

Mary.

Send out ; I am too weak to stir abroad.
Tell my mind to the Council — to the Parliament :
Proclaim it to the winds. Thou art cold thyself
To babble of their coldness. O would I wero
My father for an hour ! Away now— quick !

[Exit Heath.
I hoped I had served God with all my might I
It seems I have not. Ah ! much heresy
Shelter'd in Calais. Saints, I have rebuilt
L

178

Queen Mary.

Taot v.

Your shrib i3, set up your broken images ;

Hv comf jrtiii io to me. Suflfer not

That my brief reign in England be defamed

Thro' all her angry chronicles hereafter

By loss of Calais. Grant me Calais. Philip,

We have made war upon the Holy Father

Ail for your sake ; what good coiUd come of that 1

Lady Clarence.

No, Madam, not against the Holy Father ?
You did but help King Philip's war with France
Your troops were never down in Italy.

Maey.

I am a byword. Heretic and rebel

Point at me and make merry. Philip gone !

And Calais gone ! Time that I were gone too !

Lady Clarence.

Nay, if the fetid gutter had a voice
And cried I was not clean, what should I care ?
Or you, for heretic cries ? And I believe.
Spite of your melancholy Sir Nicholas,
Your England is is loyal as myself.

• Mary {seeing the paper dropt by Pole).

There, there ! another paper ! Said you not
Many of these wer,^ loyal ? f^,h.:>ii 'i toy
If tliis be one of such 1

Lady Clarence.

Let it be, let it be.
God pardon me ! I have never yet found one. [Aside.

Mary (reads).

** Your people hate you as your husband hates you."
Clarence, Clarence, what have I done ? what sin
Beyond all grace, all pardon ? Mother of God,

'l!

I. I* ■

SCENE T?,]

Quer^' Mary.

179

Thor k • o'\C;it never woman meant so well,
Aiuci lared so ill in this disastrous world.
My people hate me and desire my (Teath.

Ladt Clarence.
No, Madam, no.

Mart. #

My husband hates me, and desires my death.

Ladi; Cla?.knob.
No, Madam ; these are libels.

Mary.
I hate myself, and I desire my death.

Lady Clarence.

Long live your Majesty ! Shall Alice sing you

One of her pleasant songs ? Alice, my child.

Bring us your lute (Alice goes). They say the gloom of

Saul
Wa« lighten'd by young David's harp.

Mary.

Too young !
And never knew a PValip (re-enter Alice). Give me the

lute.
He hates me !

{She shigs.)

Hapless doom of woman happy in betrothing 1
Beauty pasaeu like a breatn and love is lost in loathing :
Low, my lute ; apeak low, my iute, but say the world Ih nothing-
Low, lute, low !
Love will hover round the flowers when they first awaken ;
Love will fly the fallen leaf, and not be overtaken ;
Low, my lute ! oh, low, my lute I we fade and are forsakeii —

Low, dear lute, low 1

Take it away ! not low enough for me !

f?,**

180 Queen Mary. [act v.

AUOB.

Your Grace hath a low voice.

Mary.

How dare you say it ?
Even for that he hates me. A low voice
Lost in a wilderness where none can hear !
A voice of shipwreck on a shoreless sea !
A low voice from the dust and from the grave {sittmg on the

ground).
There, am I low enough now ?

Alice.

Good Lord ! how grim and ghastly looks her Grace,
With both her knees drawn upward to her chin.
There was an old-world tomb beside my father's,
And this was opened, and the dead were found
Sitting, and in this fashion ; she looks a corpse.

Enter Lady Magdalen Dacres.
Lady Maooalen.

Madam, tbe Count de Feria waits without.
In hopes to see your Highness.

Lady Clakknob {pointing to Mary).

Wait he must —
Her trance agrtin. She neither sees nor hears,
And may not speak for hours.

Lady Magdalen.

Unhappiest
Of is)u.oens fiiJ wives and \'omen.

Alice {H tA i foreground ivilh Lady Magdalen) .

And all along
Of PliiUp.

?ftt

SCENE II.]

Queen Mai'y.
Laot Magdalen.

Not so loud ! Our Clarence there
Sees ever such an aureole round the Queen,
It gilds the greatest wronger of her peace,
Who stands the nearest to her.

181

AXICE.

Ay, this Philip ;
I used to love the Queen with all my heart —
God help me, but methinks I love her less
For such a dotage upon such a man.
I would I were as tall and strong as you.

Lady BIagdalsn.
I seem half -shamed at times to be so tall.

Alicb.

You are ^he stateliest deer in all the herd —
Beyond his aim— but I am small and scandalous,
And love to hear bad tales of Philip.

Lady Magdalen.

Why?
T never heard him utter worse of you
Than that you were low-atatored.

Alice.

Does he think
Low stature is low nature, or all women's
Low as his own ?

Lady Magdalen.

There you strike in the nail.
This coarseness is a want of phantasy.
It is the low man thinks the woman low ;
Sin is too dull to see beyond himself.

Ill

182

Queen Mary.

ACT V,

Alice.

Ah, Magdakn, sin is bold as well as dull.
How dared he ?

Lady Magdalen.

Stupid soldiers oft are bold.
Poor lads, they see not what the general sees,
A risk of utter ruin. 1 am not
Beyond his aim, or was not.

Alice.

Who? Not you?
Tell me, tell me ; save my credit with myself.

Lady Magdalen.

I never breathed it to a bird in the eaves.

Would not for all the stars and maiden moon

Our drooping Queen shoiUd know ! In Hampton Court

My window look'd upon the corridor ;

And I was robing ; — this poor throat of mine.

Barer than I should wish a man to see it, —

Whon he we speak of drove the window back,

Ana like a thief, push'd in his royal hand ;

But by God's providence a good stout staff

Ijay near me ; and you know me strong of arm ;

I do believe I lamed his Majesty's

For a day or two, tho', give tl^e Devil his due,

I never found he bore me any spite.

Alice.

I would she could have wedded that poor youth,
My Lord of Devon — light onough, God knows.
And mix'd with Wyatt s rising — and the boy
Not out of him — but neither culd, coarse, cruel,
And more than all — no Spaniard.

SCENE II.]

Queen Mary.

183

Lady Clarence.

Not so loud.
Lord Devon, girls ! what are you whUpering here

Alice.

Probing an old state-secret — how it chanced
That tms young Earl was sent on foreign travel,
Not lost his head.

Ladt Clarence.

Tkere was no proof against him.

Alice.

Nay, Madam ; did not Gardiner intercept
A letter which the Count de Noailles wrote
To that dead traitor Wyatt, with full proof
Of Courtenay's treason ? What became of that ?

Lady Clarence.

Some say that Gardiner, out of love for him.

Burnt it, and some relate that it was lost

When Wyatt sacked the Chancellor's house in'^outhwark.

Let dead things rest.

Alone i^; Italy.

Alice.
Ay, and with him who died

Lady Clarence.

Much changed, I hear,
Had put off levity and put graveness on.
The foreign courts report him in his manner
Noble as nis young person and old shield.
It might be so — but all is over now ;
He caught a chill in the lagoons of Venice,
And died in Padua.

^^i :

184 Queen Mary. [act v.

Maby {looking up gvddenly).

Died in the true faith ?

Lady Olabenoe.
Ay, Madam, happily.

Maby.

Happier he than I.

Lady Maodalbn.

It seems her Highness hath awakened. Think you
That 1 might diure to tell her that the Count — —

Maby.

I will Blue no man hence for evermore,
Baying my confessor and my cousin Pole.

Lady Magdalen.
Tt is the Count de Feria, my dear lady.

Maby.

What Count?

Lady Maqdalsn.

The Count de Feria, from his Majesty
King Philip.

Maby,

Philip ! quick ! loop up my hair !
Throw cushions on that seat, and make it throne-Uke.
Arrange my dress — the gorgeous Indian shawl
That Philip brought me in our happy d»ys ! —
That covers all. So — am I somewhat Queenlike,
Bride of the mightiest sovereign upon earth ?

SCENE II.] Queen Mary. 185

Lady Clabbnce.
Ay, BO your Grace would bide a moment yet.

Maby.

No, no, he brings a letter. I may die
Before I read it. Let me see him at once.

Enter Count ds Feria {kneels).

Febia.

I trust your Grace is well (aside) How her hand bums.

Maby.

I am not well, but it will better me,

Sir Count, to read the letter which you bring.

Feria .
Madam, I bring no letter.

Mary.

How ! no letter ?
Febia.
His Highness is so vex'd with strange affairs —

Maby.
That his own wife is no affair of his.

Febia.

Nay, Madam, nay ! he sends his veriest love,
And says, he will come quickly.

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186

Queen Mary.
Maey.

[act v.

Doth he, indeed ?
You, sir, do i/oit remember what you said
When last you came to England ?

Feria.

Madam, I brought
My King's congratulations ; it was hoped
Your Highness was once more in happy state
To give him an heir male.

Maby.

Sir, you said more ;
You said he would come quickly. I had horses
On all the road from Dover, day and night ;
On all the road from Harwich, night and day ;
But the child came not, and the husband came not ;
And yet he will come quickly. . . Thou hast learnt
Thy lesson, and I mine. There is no need
For Philip so to shame himself again.
Return,

And teU him that I know ho comes no more.
Tell him at last I know his love is dead,
And that I am in state to bring forth death —
Thou art commissioned to Elizabeth,
And not to me !

Fbpxa.

Mere compliments and wishes.
But shall I take some message from your Grace ?

Mary.

Tell her to come and close my dying eyes,
And wear my crown, and dance upon my grave.

Feria.

Then I may say your Grace will see your sister ?
Your Grace is too low-spirited. Air and sunshine,

SCENE II.]

Queen Mary.

187

I would we had you, Madam, in our warm Spain.
You droop in your dim London.

Mart.

Have him away,

x sicken of his readiness.

Lady Clarence.

My Lord Count,
Her Highness is too ill for colloquy.

Feria {kneels, and kisses her hand).

I wish her Highness better, (aside) How her hand burns.

[Eoceunt.

SCENE III.— A HOUSE NEAR LONDON.
Elizabeth, Steward of the Household, Attendants.

Elizabeth.

There's half an angel wrong'd in your account ;
Methinks I am all angel, that I bear it
Without more ruffling. Cast it o'er again.

Steward.

1 were whole devil if 1 wrong'd you Madam.

[Exit Steward.

Attendant.
The Count de Feria, from the King of Spain,

;ii!! i

18.

Queen Mary.
Elizabeth.

[act v.

Ah ! — let him enter. Nay, you need not go :

[To her Ladies.
Remain within the chamber, but apart.
We'll have no private conference. Welcome to England !

Enter Fbria.

Fair island star.

^ » h

Fbria .

Elizabeth.
I shine ! What else, Sir Count ?

Fbria.

As far as France, and into Phillip's heart.
My King would know if you be fairly served.
And lodged, and treated.

Elizabeth.

You see the lodging, sir,
I am well-served, and am in everything
Most loyal and most grateful to the Queen.

Feria.

You should be grateful to my master, too,
He spoke of this ; and unto him you owe
That Mary hath acknowledged you her heir.

Elizabeth.

No, not to her nor him ; but to the people.
Who know my right, and love me as I love
The people ! whom God aid !

SCENE in.]

Queen Mary.

Feria.

You will be Queen,
And, were I Philip —

T^iLIZABETH.

Wherefore pause you — what ?

Feria.

Nay, but I speak from mine own self, not him :
Your royal sister cannot last ; your hand
Will be much coveted ! What a delicate one !
Our Spanish ladies have none such — and there,
Were you in Spain, this fine fair gossamer gold —
Like sun-gilt breathings on a frosty dawn —
That hovers round your shoulder —

189

Elizabeth.

Troth, some have said so.

Is it so fine ?

Feria.

— would be deemed a miracle.

Elizabeth.

Your Philip hath gold hair and golden beard,
There must be ladies many with hair like mine.

Feria.

Some few of Gothic blood have golden hair,
But none like yours.

Elizabeth.

I am happy you approve it.

I. ,

f i

190

Queen Mary.
Fbria.

[act v.

But as to Philip and your Grace — consider, —
\t such a one as you should match with Spain,
What hinders but that Spain and England join'd,
Should make the mightiest empire earth has known.
Spain would be England on her seas, and England
Mistress of the Indies.

Elizabeth.

It may chance, that England
Will be the Mistress of the Indies yet,
Without the help of Spain.

Feria.

Impossible ;
Except you put Spain down.
Wide of the mark ev'n for a madman's dream.

Elizabeth.

Perhaps ; but we have seamen. Count de Feria,
I take it that the King hath spoken to you ;
But is Don Carlos such a goodly match ?

Feria.
Don Carlos, Madam, is but twelve years old.

Elizabeth.

Ay, tell the King that I will muse upon it ;
He is my good friend, and I would keep him so ;
But — he would have me Catholic of Rome,
And that I scarce can be ; and, sir, till now
My sister's marriage, and my father's marriages,
Make me full fain to live and die a maid.
But I am much beholden to your King.
Have you ought else to tell me ?

SCENE III.]

Queen Mary.
Febia.

•191

Nothing, Madam,
Save that methought I gathered from the Queen
That she would see your Grace before she — died.

Elizabeth.

God*s death ! and wherefore spake you not before ?
We dally with our lazy moments here,
And hers are numbered. Horses there, without !
I am much beholden to the King, your master.
Why did you keep me prating ? Horses, there !

[Exit Elizabeth, <fec.

Fbria.

So from a clear sky falls the thunderbolt !
Don Carlos ? Madam, if you marry Phillip,
Then I and he will snaffle your " God's death,"
And break your paces in and make you tame ;
God's death, forsooth — you do not know King Philip.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.— LONDON. BEFORE THE PALACE.

A light burning within. Voices of the night passing.

First.
Is not yon light in the Queen's chamber ?

Secoxd.
They say she's dying.

Ay,

192

Qtueen Mary.

[act v.

First.

So is Cardinal Pole.
May the great angels join their wings, and make
Down for their heads to heaven !

Second.

Amen. Come on.
[Exewit, «

Two Othebs.

First.
There's the Queen's light. I hear she cannot live.

Second.

God curse her and her Legate ! Gardiner bums
Already ; but to pay them full in kind,
The hottest hold in all the devil's den
Were but a sort of winter ; sir, in Guernsey,
I watch'd a woman bum ; and in her agony
The mother came upoi her — a child was bor a--
And, sir, they hurl'd it back into the fire,
That, being but baptised in fire, the babe
Might be in fire for ever. Ah, good neigh}>our,
There should be something fierier than firi
To yield them thoir deserts.

First.

Vou wish, and further.

Amen to all

A Third Voice.

Deserts ? Amen to vvhat ? Whose deserts ? Yours ? You
have a gold ring on your finger, and soft raiment about your
body ; and is not the woman up yonder sleepijug after all tae

i 5 I,

SCENE IV.]

Queen Mary.

19.3

has done, in peace and quietness, on a soft bed, in a closed
room, with light, fire, physic, tendance ; and I have seen the
true men of Christ lying famine-dead by scores, and under- no
ceiling but the cloud that wept on them, not for them.

First.

Friend, tho' so late, it is not safe to preach.
You had best go home. What are you ?

Third.

What am I ? One who cries continually with sweat and
tears to the Lord God that it would please Him out of
His infinite love to break down all kingship and queenship,
all priesthood and prelacy ; to cancel and abolish all bonds
of human allegiance, all the magistracy, all the nobles,
and all the wealthy ; and to se^d us again, according to
His promise, .'he one King, the Christ, and all things in
common, as in :ho day of the first church, when Christ Jesus
was King.

First.

K ever I heard a madman, — let's away !

Why, you long winded Sir, you go beyond me.

I pride myself on being moderate.

G Dod night ! Go home. Besides, you curse so loud,

The watch will hear you. Get you home at once.

[^Exeunt.

ilii

ii-

SCENE v.— LONDON. A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

A Gallery on one side. The moonliifht streamhig throv>gh a
range of windows on the wall opposite. Mary, Lad^t
Clarence, Lady Magdalen Dacres, Alice. Queen
pacing the Gallery. A writing-tahle in front. Queen
comes to the table and wastes and goes again, poncing the
Gallery.

194 Queen Mary. [act v.

Lady Clarence.
Mine eyes are dim : what hath she written ? read.

Alice.
*' I am dying, Philip ; come to me."

Lady Magdalen.
There — up and down, poor lady, up and down.

Alice.

And how her shadow crosses one by one

The moonlight casements patterned on the wall,

Following her like her sorrow. She turns again.

[Queen sits and writesj avtd goes again.

Lady Clarence.
What hath she written now ?

Alice.

Nothing ; but *' come, come, come," and all awry.
And blotted by her tears. This cannot last.

^ [Queen rti/VLms.

Mary.

I whistle to the bird his broken cage.

And all in vain. \^iiiing down.

Calais gone — Guisnes gone, too — and Philip gone !

Lady Clarence.

Dear Madam, Philip is but at the wars ;
I cannot doubt but that he comes again ;
And he is with you in a measure stUI.
I never look'd upon so fair a likeness

SCEKB v.]

Qv£en Mary.

195

As your great King in armour there, his hand
Upon his helmet.

[Pointing to the portrait of Philip on the ivall.

Maby.

Doth he not look noble ?
I had heard of him in battle over seas,
And I would have my warrior all in arms.
He said it was not courtly to stand helmeted
Before the Queen. He had hisgracious moment
Altho* you'll not believe me. How he smiles
As if he loved me yet !

Lady Clabencb.

And so he does.

Mary.

He never loved me — nay, he could not love me
It was his father's policy against France.
I am eleven years older than he,
Poor boy.

'••: f

[Weeps.

Alice.

That was a lusty boy of twentj n ;
Poor enough in God's grace !

Maby.

— And all in vain !
The Queen of Scots is married to the Dauphin,
And Charles, the lord of this low world is gone ;
And all his wars and wisdoms past away ;
And in a moment I shall follow him.

Lady Olabenge.
Nay, dearest Lady, see your good physician.

[Aside.

190

Queen Mary.

[act v.

Mary.

Drugs — but he knows they cannot help me — says

That rest is all — tells me I must not think —

That I must rest — I shall lest by-and-by..

Catch the wild cat, cage him, and when he springs

And maims himself against the bars, say ' ' rest " :

Why, you must kill him if you would have him rest —

Dead or alive you cannot make him happy.

Lady Clarence.

Your Majesty has lived so pure a life,

And done such mighty things by Holy Church,

I trust that God will make you happy yet.

Mary.

What is thQ strange thing happiness ?
Tell me thine happiest hour.

Lady Clarence.

Sit down here

I will, if that
May make your Grace forget yourself a little.
There runs a shallow brook across our field
For twenty miles, where the black crow flies five,
And doth so bound and babble all the way
As if itself wove happy. It was May-time,
And I was walking with the man I loved.
I loved him, but I thought I was not loved.
And both were silent, letting the wild brook
Speak for us — till he stooped and gather'd one
From out a bed of thick forget-me-nots,
Look'd hard and sweet at me, and gave it me,
I took it, tho* I did not know I took it.
And put it in my bosom, and all at once
I felt his arms about me, and his lips

Mary.

O God ! T have been too slack, too slack ;

There are Hot Gospellers even among our guards-

SCENE v.]

Queen Mary.

197

Nobles we dared not touch. We have but burnt

The heretic priest, workmen, and women and children.

Wet, famine, ague, fever, storm, wreck, wrath, —

We have so play'd the coward ; but by God's grace.

We'll follow Philip's leading, and set up

The Holy Office here —garner the wheat,

And bum the tares with unquenchable fire !

Burn !

Fie, what a savour ! tell the cooks to close

The doors of all the offices below.

Latimer !

Sir, we are private with our women here —

Ever a rough, blunt, and uncourtly fellow —

Thou light a torch that never will go out !

'Tis out — mine flp-naes. Women, the Holy Father

Has ta'en the legateship from our cousin Pole —

Was that well done ? and poor Pole pines of it,

As I do, to the dieath. I am but a woman,

I have no power. — Ah, weak and meek old man,

Seven -fold dishonour'd even in the sight

Of thine own sectaries — No, no. No pardon ! —

Why that was false : there is the right hand still

Beckons me hence.

Sir, you were burnt for heresy, not for treason,

Remember that ! 'twas I and Bonner did it.

And Pole ; we are three to one — Have you found mercy

there,
Grant it me here : and see he smiles and goes.
Gentle as in life.

Alice.
Madam, who goes ? King Philip ?

Mary.

No, Philip comes and goes, but never goes.

Women, when I am dead,

Open my heart, and there you will find written

Two names, Philip and Calais ; open his, —

So that he nave one, —

You will find Philip only, policy, policy, —

198

Queen Mary.

[act v.

Ay, worse than that— not one hour true to me !
Foul maggots crawling in a fester'd vice !
Adulterous to the very heart of Hell.
Hast thou a knife ?

Alice.

Ay, Madam, but o' God's mercy —

Mary.

Fool, think'st thou I would peril mine own soul
By slaughter of the body ? I could not, girl.
Not this way — callous with a constant stripe,
TJnwounc^ '^le. Thy knife !

Alice.

Take heed, take heed !
TL .1 <de is keen as death.

Mary.

This Philip shall not
Stare in upon me in my haggardness ;
Old, miserable, diseased,
Incapable of children. Come thou down.

[Cuts out the picture and throws it down.
Lie there. {Wails.) O God, 1 have kill'd my Philip.

Alice.

No,

Madam, you have but cut the canvas out,
We can replace it.

Mary.

All is well then ; rest —
I will to rest ; he said, I must have rest.

[Cries of" Elizabeth " in the street.
A cry ! What's that ? Elizabeth ? revolt ?

SCENE v.]

Queen Mary.

199

A new Northumberland, another Wyatt ?
I'll fight it on the threshold of the grave.

Lady Claubnce.
Madam, your royal ^ oter comes to see you.

Mary.

I will not see her.

Who knows if Boleyn's daughter be my sister ?

I will see none except the priest. Your arm.

[To Lady Clarence.
O Saint of Aragon, with that sweet worn smile
Among thy patient wrinkles— Help me hence. [Exeunt:

The Priest passes.. Enter Elizabeth and Sir
William Cecil.

Elizabeth.

Good counsel yours —

No one in waiting ? still,
As if the chamberlain were Death himself !
The room she sleeps in — is not this the way ?
No, that way there are voices. Am I too late ?
Cecil . . . God guide me lest I lose the way.

[Exit Elizabeth.

, Cecil.

Many points weathered, many perilous ones.

At last a harbour opens ; but therein

Sunk rocks — they need fine steering — much it is

To be nor mad, nor bigot — have a mind —

Not let Priests' talk, or dream of worlds to be,

Miscolour things about her — sudden touches

For him, or him — sunk rocks ; no passionate faith —

But — if let be — balance and compromise ;

Brave, wary, sane to the heart of her — a Tudor

School'd by the shadow of death — a Boleyn, too,

Glancing across the Tudor — not so well.

200

Queen Mary.
Enter Alice.

[act v.

How is the good Queen now ?

Alice.

Away from Philip.
Bock in her childhood — prattling to hei* mother
Of her betrothal to the Emperor Charles,
And childlike- jealous of him again — and onqe
She thank'd her father sweetly for his book
Against that godless German. Ah, those days
Were happy. It was'never merry world
In England, since the Bible came among us.

Cecil.
And who says that ?

Alice.
It is a saying among the Catholics.

Cecil.

It never will be merry world in England,
Till all men have their Bible, rich and poor.

Alice.
The Queen is dying, or you dare not say it.

EnUr Elizabeth.

The Queen is dead.

Elizabeth.

Cecil.
Then here she stands ! my homage.

■SI M'

I ■ \

SCENE v.]

Queen Mary.
Elizabeth .

201

She knew me, and acknowledged me her heir,

Pray'd me to pay her debts, and keep the Faith ;

Then claspt the cross, and pass'd away in peace.

I left her lying stiU and beautiful,

More beautiful than in life. Why would you vex yourself,

Poor sister ? Sir, I swear 1 have no heart

To be your Queen. To reign is restless fence,

Tierce, quart, and trickery. Peace is with the dead.

Her life was winter, for her spring was nipt :

And she loved much : pray God she be forgiven.

Cecil.

Peace with the dead, who never were at peace !
Yet she loved one so much — I needs must say —
That never English monarch dying left
England so little.

Elizabeth.

But with Cecil's aid
And others, if our person be secured
From traitor atabs — we will make England great.

Enter Paget, and other Lords or the Council, Sir
Ralph Bagenhall, &c.

Lords.
God save Elizabeth, the Queen of England !

Bagenhall.
God save the Crown : the Papacy is no more.

Paget {<mde).
Are we so sure of that ?

Acclamation.

God save the Queen !

the end.

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